


A Second Chance

by makenalei



Series: Begin Again [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, F/M, Gen, Memory Alteration, Second Chances, Universe Alteration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-18
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-04-26 22:18:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 26
Words: 76,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5022679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makenalei/pseuds/makenalei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Winter had fallen. The dragons were all dead. The lions were fading and the roses were wilting. War still ravaged the south, famine and poverty covered the Riverlands, and White Walkers descended on the north. The entire realm was about to fall into the darkness.</p><p>But she could save them. She could chose to rewrite it all, to use magic to make the world right again. Melisandre warned her that it came with a price, all magic did. But she had nothing left to lose in this realm. Everyone she had ever loved was dead. Whatever price the new world came at, she would pay it. Even if meant her existence was erased, saving those that she loved was worth it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

** Chapter 1 **

**The North**

**Remains of Winterfell Castle**

**Queen Sansa Stark**

**306 AC**

 

The flakes fell in thick clumps around her shaking form. The pristine white snow was stained red as soon as the flakes hit the ground, mixing where blood flowed freely. Blood and death surrounded her. She was no stranger to either concept. At the young age of twenty, she was already alone in the world.

 

Arya was long dead, killed in Braavos by one of her targets. Bran was a Child of the Forest, lost to the realm forever. Rickon was killed in a shipwreck on his way home from Skaggo’s. That had hurt the most. She had allowed herself to hope for a moment, only to have it cruelly ripped away.  Her mother and eldest brother, Robb, were killed at the Red Wedding. Her father, beheaded right in front of her. And now Jon, her sweet, loving Jon.

 

The end of the battle today marked the last of her family’s passing. Her only remaining blood relation had succumbed to the same fate as the rest of their family. Her cousin, the bastard brother she had once disliked, lay dying and it made her shake. They had been more then cousins. He was a Targaryen after all. He was her lover, her best friend, her supposed to be husband.  He was her Prince and he would join the rest of their families instead of staying with her.  Taking back Winterfell was supposed to be the end of things. They were supposed to rule together. They were supposed to be together.

 

She was told of his injury barely a minute ago. Maege Mormont, the Lady of Bear Island, had come to her with a look on her face that left no uncertainty on what had happened. Jon was dead. She knew it.

 

“He’s fading fast, my Queen” Maege whispered.

 

“Where?” She was ready to run. She would run as fast as she could to him, no matter how unladylike it was. 

 

“The Godswood” Maege told her. She chased after her when she took off running to him.

 

She hadn’t cried, she hadn’t even let a tear fall, but she shook. Her entire frame trembled as the large woman led her to the spot where her beloved lay dying. The trail of blood that led to his body, lying under the Heart tree, made her think that he had dragged himself there.

 

She fell to her knees as she approached his prone figure. Someone had had the decency to cover him with a cloak. It wasn’t his cloak though, she could tell. The clasp was wrong. He was wrapped up tightly to keep him from trembling, but he trembled from blood loss, not cold. She grabbed his hand from under the cloak, squeezing it softly.

 

“Sansa” Her name was like a prayer on his lips. His watery grey eyes were searching for her.

 

“Leave us,” She whispered, looking to Maege. She didn’t want her to see her break. She couldn’t handle it. She was supposed to be strong. She was the Queen of Ice and Snow, the Queen of the North and of Winter. She was supposed to be strong.

 

She had to be strong for Jon.

 

“As you wish” Maege murmured, leaving them. She had no doubt that Maege would stay outside the Godswood, waiting for her. 

 

She reached out slowly to cup his bearded cheek. 

 

He was so warm, so alive.

 

“Oh, Jon” She sighed, tears finally blurring her vision. She blinked them away, focusing on him again. 

 

“Sansa” He repeated.

 

“You’ll be okay, Jon” She whispered, caressing his rough skin, “You’re going to be okay, I promise”

 

“Not this time, love” Jon coughed. Blood splattered his chin and dribbled down it. He was too weak to even wipe it away. She wiped at it with the pad of her thumb.

 

“We’ll find a maester”

 

“Got me in the stomach, Sans” He coughed again. She knew that the stomach was the worst place to it. She knew that it was almost always fatal. But it couldn’t be now, not with Jon. 

 

“Don’t talk like that” She admonished him, “Save your strength”

 

“Saved my strength” He coughed, “To see you”

 

“You’re going to be fine, Jon” She whispered again.

 

“Love you, Sans” He told her, gripping her hand weakly. She had never had a nickname before Jon. She had never wanted nor needed one. Sansa was her given name, a name she quite liked. But when Jon called her Sans, she loved it. 

 

“Don’t you dare say goodbye to me, Jon Snow” She felt the tears slipping down her cheeks now. Her vision blurred as she sobbed openly. She felt Jon weakly pulling at her hand, trying to pull her closer. She obliged him, wrapping her arms gently around him, “We were supposed to be married” She whispered against his neck.

 

“Marry me,” He whispered, “Marry me, now” He coughed again.

 

“That’s not very romantic for a proposal” She tried to laugh but it was more of a pained sob. 

 

“Need witness” He managed to tell her.

 

“Maege! Maege!” She screamed at the top of her lungs. The woman came running in, sword drawn.

 

“My Queen?” She questioned in confusion.

 

“We want you to witness our marriage” She told her breathlessly, “Please, Lady Mormont”

 

“Of course” The woman seemed startled, but she nodded. She took a step back, gesturing for them to continue.

“In the eyes of the Old Gods and our ancestors, I” His words were cut off as he coughed again, “I, Jon Snow, son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark, do hereby swear myself to you. I promise to love, honor, and cherish for the rest of our life. I will love you forever, Sansa Stark, no matter where you are or where I go, I will always love you” He finished, coughing. He shook against her. He managed to untie the leather cord around his wrist, tying it weakly to her own. He always wore it for luck. 

 

“In the eyes of the Old Gods and our ancestors” She began, pausing to take a breath to keep herself from sobbing, “I, Sansa Stark, daughter of Eddard and Catelyn Stark, do hereby swear myself to you. I promise to love” She bit back her sob, “Honor, and cherish you for the rest of our life. There will be no other. I will love you forever, Jon Snow” She finished.

 

They just had to seal their marriage pact with a kiss. She turned from where she had buried her face against his chest, and pulled herself up to kiss his clammy lips. He was growing cold. He was leaving her.

 

He found the strength to lift his arm to tangle in her hair, holding her face closer to his as she kissed him softly. She tasted blood on her lips, but she didn’t care.

 

“I love you, Jon,” She whispered, pulling away to look into his grey eyes.

 

‘I love you more, wife” His lips quirked up in a pained half smile, and then his eyes seemed to fade. The light left them. His hand went slack, falling from her face.

 

“Jon?” She whispered, shaking his chest, “Jon, wake up”

 

But he wasn’t asleep. There was no breath from his chapped pink lips, nor did his heart beat beneath her palm. He was gone.

 

“Jon!” She screamed his name, “Jon, please!” She begged, “Please” She sobbed, collapsing against his still chest. 

 

“Jon” She trembled, clutching his tunic in her hands.

 

“He’s gone, your Grace” Lady Mormont laid a heavy hand on her shoulder, “I am so sorry,”

 

“I know,” She whispered, reaching out to close his unseeing eyes. She would never see those eyes again, the Stark grey eyes that had belonged to Arya, her father, and Jon, “Everyone I love dies, Lady Mormont” 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Hours later, when the enemies were finally all gone, she sat in her father’s old solar, staring into the burning fire. It licked at the logs, consuming everything she fed into it. Her guards stood vigil outside the door.  

 

She was wrapped in Jon’s cloak. A guard had found it near the Great Hall. He must have discarded it during the fight. It was blood free, though it was soaked from lying in the snow all day. It was dry now, and it smelt of him, faintly. There was an essence of him, mixed with the scent of fire and snow.

 

Ghost hadn’t been seen since his death. She suspected that he would never return, that she would never see him again either, just as the dragons disappeared with his Aunt. 

 

“Your Grace?” A guard poked his head in, “The Red Woman wishes to speak to you”

 

The Red Woman was a priestess of the god of fire, or something of the sort. She preached about light and R’hllor. Jon never put much stalk in it, neither had she. But the Red Woman had saved him from his brothers, so Jon had been in her debt. She had mostly stayed around Stannis, but that King had died moons ago from the cold. 

 

The woman, dressed in red and seemingly glowing, slowly glided into the room. She always seemed to glide. She was like a shadow, slowly creeping in and blending into the room.

 

“My Queen” The woman bowed her head, “Apologies on your loss. I wish I could have saved him again”

 

“Thank you, Lady Melisandre,” She murmured, “But that is not why you are here” To the Red Woman, Jon’s death was a good thing. She would consider it the will of her god, the will of R’hllor, and it made Sansa sick. 

 

“No” She shook her head, “I have come to offer you something. I have seen you in my flames, Queen Sansa, and I have seen what will become of you now that the Prince is gone. I have come to offer you a chance at happiness”

 

“By sacrificing me to your gods?” She bit back sarcastically. She did not want to die, not yet at least. She still had a duty to the men and women she had dragged up here, her people still needed her. She still needed to avenge Jon. The man who slayed him would have to be put to her sword.

 

“No” The woman shook her head, “But you will sacrifice yourself soon, and it will not be to any good use,” She sighed, “What I am about to offer you now will come with a price, but the price, I believe, is worth it”

 

“What is it?” She questioned, curiosity getting the better of her.

 

“A second chance”

 

“At what?”

 

“At life” The woman smiled, _“_ I can rewrite it, I can fix the wrongs that have twisted this realm into never ending suffering. The White Walkers approach, my Queen, and we will fall with them. The entire realm will fall with them. It is too late for this life,”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“The dragons were supposed to destroy the White Walkers. They were supposed to be the saviors,”

 

“Jon would be alive?” She whispered, not daring to believe it yet. It was too good to be true.

 

“And your family as well” The Red Woman nodded, “Tell me, your Grace, when did the realm begin to fail? What royal caused all of this pain?”

 

Her first thought was to King Robert, who had dragged them from their Northern castle and to the city. He was the beginning for her suffering though, not the entire realms. King Joffrey obviously was a terror, but the realm was long suffering before that.

 

“Prince Rhaegar” She spoke Jon’s father’s name quietly. He had run away with her Aunt, which led to Jon’s birth. He had caused the entire rebellion by stealing her like a wildling.

 

“Close” The Red Woman whispered, “But Prince Rhaegar was not the problem. He would have married your Aunt, a second bride, but someone stopped him. Someone acted rashly”

 

“King Aerys” She whispered. The Mad King had started it. He burned her grandfather and uncle alive, roasting them in their armor. He was the start of it all. 

 

‘Yes, King Aerys” The Red Woman nodded, “And how do you suppose I could fix the past without altering too much of the future, your Grace?” The Red Woman was testing her, seeing if she was truly worthy of such great sacrifice.

 

She thought back to her lessons in history, to the battles and the political happenings just before the war began. She knew that Lyanna Stark met Prince Rhaegar at the Harrenhal tourney. She knew that a few months later, Lyanna was gone, Prince Rhaegar accused of kidnapping. She had to think back further though. What was said to have caused King Aerys to go insane?

 

“Duskendale” She sighed, “He would have to die at Duskendale or shortly after,”

 

“Between Duskendale and Harrenhal, yes. Good girl” The Red Woman cooed, “So, are you ready, my Queen? Will you accept this offer?”

 

“At what price?” She questioned softly. 

 

“You will remember this life, Queen Sansa. You will remember all of it. But no one else will. By changing the past, your future will be changed. There will be no going back. There is no promise that this new place will be better. There is no promise that you will even exist, should your parents not marry. There is no guarantee that your Prince will” She hesitated, her eyes uncharacteristically gentle.

 

“Love me” She whispered, realizing what the Red Woman was getting at. A life without Jon would be devastating but a world where Jon loved someone else would be worse. But she had to do it. Because he would be alive at least. She didn’t have to have him, he just had to have his life intact, “He might not love me”

 

“Exactly”

 

“I don’t care” She whispered, “He’ll be alive, as will the rest of them” She would forsake her love of Jon for the rest of her family. They had sacrificed so much for her, she could sacrifice this, or at least, she could try.

 

“There will be no going back, your Grace. You will wake up and life will be different. I will not be there to offer you any assistance at all”

 

“Where will you be?”

 

 “My magic fades, Queen Sansa. After this, I will return to my creator,”

 

“Fades?” She questioned in surprise, “What do you mean?”

 

“Most of my power was given to save your husband from death at the hands of his brothers. Since then, it has only dwindled as I used it more and more. Magic always comes with a price, my Queen. Just as this magic will. I will give you until tomorrow to make your final decision”

 

And with that, the Red Woman swept out of the room, her red skirts billowing behind her.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the feedback, I appreciate it greatly! This is un-beta'd so any mistakes are my own. It's completely finished, I'm just tweaking a bit as I post. It's just about 50k words and it will be part of a alternative universe series I'm working on. 
> 
> This second chapter is a brief look back at what Sansa went through before the first chapter, and how she ended up in Jon's company. I have a few other look back chapters to give the story some background, but it can function without them, so let me know if you like them or not.

**The Vale of Arryn**

**Gates of the Moon**

**Alayne Stone**

**302 AC**

 

She had been in the Vale for over two years now. Her seventeenth name day had fallen a few moons ago, in the thick of the worst Winterfell Westeros had seen in ages. It had some good qualities though Winter had descended onto Westeros seemingly overnight, blanketing the wars completely. No one was fighting for a side anymore; they were all fighting to themselves, fighting to stay alive.  Lucky for her, the Vale was protected from that. She lived a cozy life at the Gates of the Moon, where Arryn’s for centuries before her had gathered when winter fell. She had the Royces now, in addition to her sickly little Robin, and her father, Lord Baelish. With the death of his lady wife moons ago, he had taken to visiting her more often, his actions becoming less and less proper.

 

“You are so beautiful, my sweet Alayne” He murmured, kissing her neck. She suppressed the urge to shiver in distress. He had taken that as arousal the last time it occurred. She stayed perfectly still, not wanting to encourage him any further. She found that it worked best that way.

 

“Thank you, father” She replied softly. She tried to call him father as much as possible when he entered her chambers. It dissuaded him sometimes. Not tonight though. His hands roamed south, to her undergarments.

 

“So sweet” He murmured as his tongue laved at the top of her breasts, which were still encased in her simple rough spun dress. No matter what she wore he found her attractive. She had tried to look as base born as she could to disuade him, to make herself as unappealing as necessary. Her servant's dress was testimony to it all. It wasn’t the least bit enticing and yet he was enticed.

 

“You were going to tell me something important, father,” She reminded him in a stiff voice, trying to keep her tone soft and gentle. He liked it when she spoke softly, breathy almost. Myranda had taught her to speak as such; she had told her that men liked you to sound breathless in the marriage bed. She tried her best with Petyr, but it was difficult to feign such a response when it was so wholly unwanted.

 

“In a moment, my sweet girl” He murmured as he continued to quite literally drool over her chest. He brought his mouth up though, bringing his slimy lips to hers, forcing his tongue down her throat as his hands roughly grappled her chest and bottom. She could feel him hard against her thigh. He broke away with a wet smacking sound, “On to business, yes?”

 

“You seemed concerned, father,” She told him, fake sympathy written on her face. It was her job to play the dutiful daughter, to play a role that did not reflect her actual feelings. She had finally learned to play the game. She just wished it wasn’t Petyr Baelish to have taught her everything she knew.

 

“King Stannis is on his way with a small retinue of his men,” He admitted, “The other nobles think it is wise to choose a side at this time and King Stannis wrote a startling missive,”

 

“And what do you think?”

 

“I do not think, my dear, I know that King Stannis is the wrong choice” He kissed the tip of her nose, “He does not have what it takes. But you, my dear, you could rule”

 

“They would never follow me, father” She murmured, blinking innocently from under her lashes. She would build an army and she would retake the North, but not with his help, not with him at her side. She would rather die herself then allow him to get his little fingers into the North.

 

“No, but when you marry Lord Robert, they will”

 

“You said that about Harold”

 

“And then he died a few moons into your marriage” He shook his head, “Such well laid plans only to be destroyed by his drinking and whoring habit”

 

“But will they support a marriage between Robin and I?”

 

“I will see to it, my dear. And then you will have the Vale and the North, not to mention your uncle in the Riverlands” He added, “You would be heir to three kingdoms, my sweet Alayne”

 

“And then what?”

 

“And then we take the realm” He answered simply, “Do not worry yourself over the details. Trust your father to take care of it. Do you not  trust me, daughter?”

 

“I trust no one more, father” She answered with a happy  smile. She leant forward and kissed his smooth cheek. He reeked of mint and oils. He smelt nothing like the pine and snow of her real father.

 

“I am glad to hear it” He replied, smoothing his hand over her cheek, “You are very dear to me, my sweet daughter”

 

“As are you, father” She replied, “Now, when does this party of King Stannis’s arrive?”

 

“On the morrow” He replied easily, “Lord Nestor has arranged a feast. I want you there”

 

“Are you sure it is wise to have me there?” She questioned. She had met King Stannis before.

 

“Of course. You’ll be with the soldiers anyways. I want you to charm a few of the men, discover just how many men King Stannis truly has, how strong they are. Can you do that?”

 

“Of course, father” She answered with a grin, “I learned from the best, after all”

 

“Good girl. Now go see the seamstress. You’ll need a better gown for the feast, something a bit more revealing”

 

The next evening she stood in front of her looking glass, trying not to flush at the low neckline of her nearly translucent gown. She looked like a brothel worker but with even less clothing. It was times like this that she nearly cracked. Her family would be ashamed of her in this moment, she knew it. Her mother would be rolling in her grave if she had one.  Her eyes were lined in kohl, her lips painted with the juice of berries, and her skin slicked in rose oils. Her hair hung loose, a mix of brown and red. Dye had been hard to come by now that the winter had started. Her father didn’t seemed concerned though. If anything, he liked it better. After all, no one was looking for a blue eyed auburn haired maiden anymore.

 

“Whoa” Myranda breezed into her room in a much more modest dress. But as the daughter of Lord Nestor, modesty was required for Randa. She looked beautiful though, like a true lady, “Look at you, you look, wow”

 

“You look beautiful, Randa” She told her friend, “While I appear to be playing the part of a whore”

 

“Not a whore” Randa shook her head, “You are much too beautiful to ever be considered a whore, Alayne. You are too polite and well mannered. I daresay we switch dresses”

 

‘Our fathers would not be happy”

 

“And what is it that Lord Baelish wants you to accomplish in that gown?”

 

“He seeks information” She replied. Randa was not quiet in her distrust for Petyr Baelish, despite the fact that she was his daughter. But that was Randa for you, she did not care for what others thought. She enjoyed that quality in her friend. She could always get the truth from Randa.

 

“Of course he does. Well, my father seeks information as well. The other lords are set to declare for Stannis”

 

“My father will not be pleased, I admit,” She told her friend. She and Randa had no secrets save for the truth about her identity. But that was for both of their safeties. 

 

“Mayhap you’ll find a gallant knight that will whisk you away from this place” Randa suggested, wiggling her brows suggestively. Randa always spoke of her running away, promising to help her, but she had no where to run. Her life was safe here even if she wasn’t totally unharmed.

 

“You have heard  too many stories, your head is in a song” She teased, thinking back to when she had thought like that as well. Knights weren’t gallant though, they were dangerous and cruel. They did not deserve their titles. Life wasn’t a song or a story, she knew that now. You had to make your own story, write your own endings.Princesses and Prince’s didn’t end up happily ever after, not in war. 

 

“And you are much too serious for so young a girl. You should have some fun tonight. You barely got to enjoy your first husband, what’s stopping you from enjoying others? You’ve nothing to prove now” She wasn’t a maiden, that was true, but she wasn’t about to fall it not he bed of random men. Her marriage bed had not been a pleasurable experience. It was torturous and painful. Her subsequent intimate encounters with her father had been no better. She didn’t want it, it was rape. She would remember that when she ruled.

 

“Enough talk of nonsense” She told Randa, “We’re going to be late if we continue to chat like this”

 

“Ever so prompt and proper” Randa teased, pulling gently on one of her ringlets playfully, “I like your natural hair color much better then that dreadful color the septa’s made you dye it” When the dye had run out, Petyr had told everyone that she had been required to dye her hair at the sept because red was an unnatural color. With the militant faith rising in the capital, people believed it easily.

 

“Kissed by fire,” She murmured, remembering the wilding phrase that Tyrion, her first husband, had told her about. He had read it in a book about the Wall, it was supposed to make her lucky. Ironically, she had never had much luck with anything.

 

She followed Randa to the Great Hall, where the rest of the guests were arriving. Randa left to join rest of the nobles at the high table. Lord Nestor and Lord Baelish would be greeting the guests in the entrance hall before the feast. She entered the hall and sat at a table with the younger kitchen staff and maids. The soldiers would sit where the youngest, prettiest, girls were. 

 

Soon enough, the men were flooding into the warmth of the hall. They flocked to the tables with the pretty girls, vying to sit close to them. It appeared that even King Stannis’s men appreciated a beautiful woman, even if King Stannis did not. The man sat at the head dais, stoically downing his ale. He looked exactly as she recalled, though older. He was older then his brother ever was, older then even her father ever got the chance to be. It showed in the lines on his face. Winter and war had not been kind to Stannis Baratheon.

 

Two rather slight soldiers sat next to her, smiling widely. 

 

“Hello, beautiful” The slighter of the two, a girlish looking boy with black ringlets, spoke first, flirting with her, “I’m Satin”

 

“Satin” She repeated with a coy smile, “An interesting name”

 

“It’s because my hair is so silken” He replied, “And this is Pypar”

 

‘You can call me Pyp” This one had shorter hair and large ears that stuck out quite prominently from the side of his head. He resembled one of those tree creatures from the Summer Isles, a monkey she thought they were called. Yes, a monkey is what Maester Luwin taught them about all those years ago.

 

“Pyp and Satin” She nodded, “I suppose you wish to know my name then, yes?”

 

‘If you would do us the great pleasure” Satin replied with a wink.

 

“Alayne” She answered.

 

“Alayne, a beautiful name for a beautiful woman” Satin declared loudly. She fond herself grinning at his playful nature. He was flirtatious, yes, but she had a feeling he was harmless. He may jest, but he wouldn’t be overly insulted had she ignored him. She also had a feeling that he was not interested in what was under her gown. She had not seen it with Loras Tyrell or Renly Baratheon, but she could see it now. Petyr had taught her a vast many a thing.

 

“You two don’t look much like soldiers” She told them, leaning closer. 

 

“We weren’t born to be soldiers, no” Pyp answered, “Satin was a whore”

 

“And Pyp was in a traveling show” Satin replied, glaring slightly at his friend. His name made sense now. Satin, like the sheets. She listened to them tell their tales as the feast went on around them. They were jovial men, seemingly unconcerned with the war or winter. When she told them as such, they were quick to correct her.

 

“Heavens, no, Lady Alayne” Satin shook his head, “We’ve seen the war and we’ve seen the winter, but it is warm down here in the Vale and the war we fight isn’t here yet. We’re just happy to be in a warm hall drinking warm ale with a beautiful woman”

 

“What do you mean you’ve seen winter?” She questioned, “Where were you before this?” She expected them to be in Dragonstone or perhaps even the Stormland’s now that Renly was dead.

 

“The Wall, Lady Alayne” Pyp answered, “The tip of the Northern boundaries that keeps out of the wildings” She knew what the wall was of course. She had seen it when she was six. Her father had taken her and Robb, and Jon.

 

“The Wall?” She questioned, “What was King Stannis doing in the North?”

 

“Have you ever heard of the wights, Lady Alayne?” Pyp questioned.

 

“Of course she hasn’t, Pyp” Satin scoffed, “We never heard of them before either, no southerner knows of them. That’s why this mission is pointless”

 

‘I’ve heard of them” She replied. She remembers the horror stories Nan used to tell about the creatures of the dead. Arya had loved those stories, “The wights and the Others, yes?”

 

“You’ve heard of them?”

 

“The Vale isn’t so far from the North, sers” She answered, “But they’re just the stuff of stories, meant to scare little boys and girls from straying”

 

“Not anymore, dear Alayne. Stories are coming to life in the North. Dead men are walking. We were part of the Night’s Watch before Stannis”

 

“The Night’s Watch?” She whispered, thinking of the bastard brother she once had. But then she realized Alayne Stone never had a bastard brother and neither did Sansa Stark, at least not anymore. Her father had told her of his death a year ago, betrayed by his own brothers. Alayne Stone wouldn’t have care. But she had. She cried for a fortnight over her last remaining siblings. She cared more then she wanted to admit, “You abandoned your post?”

 

“No, the Night’s Watch is no more” Pyp told her, “It’s gotten bad, Alayne. We need the Vale’s help, desperately. Or the dead will travel here”

 

“You should speak with the high lords, not to me” And then she realized why they were speaking to her. She felt stupid. They had to know that she was Lord Baelish’s daughter, “But you know that so you chose to speak with me instead,”

 

“We need to broaden our appeals. Those better with words speak with the high lords, your father included”

 

“You were given orders to charm me, so that I would appeal to my father for you” She played the spurned woman well. They looked guilty. She could still spin this her way, get what she wanted.

 

“That was before we saw how beautiful and charming you were,” Satin told her, still flirting even though he had been caught.

 

“My father does not like the Night’s Watch” She warned them, thinking quickly, “Tell me, did either of you know a boy by the name of Jon Snow?”

 

“You mean Lord Commander Snow?” Pyp asked, “Why do you ask?”Lord Commander. Jon had climbed the ranks in the Watch it seemed. Good for him.

 

“I met him once. I traveled to the North with my father,” She lied easily, “Bastards stick together, right?”

 

“I am sure Jon would be pleased to see you then, Lady Alayne,”

 

“He lives?” She questioned in confusion, “I heard he was betrayed”

 

“He was but he pulled through” Pyp answered.

 

“Then I shall make you a deal,” She whispered, her heart racing, “You get me into the Lord Commander’s chambers without anyone else’s knowledge, even him, and I shall tell him everything I know”

 

“Without his knowledge?” Pyp asked.

 

“Surprises are nice,” She answered with a coy shrug, “I don’t see him at the dais though. Where is he?”

 

“He stayed in his chambers” Pyp admitted, “He knew Lord Baelish would not take well to him at his table. Stannis agreed”

 

“Perfect, then let us go’ Her heart was racing faster now, racing with excitement and something else, something she hadn’t dared feel in years. She felt hope at the thought of seeing her brother again. She wasn’t the last of her pack anymore. She grabbed both of their hands and made a show of leaving with them so that her father thought she was seducing them. As soon as they were out of eyesight of him and his little birds, she dropped the act. They led her towards the wing where King Stannis was staying. She supposed that as Lord Commander, Jon would get a nice room as well. Her father would have never seen to a bastard getting a good room, even if he were the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. Lord Nestor was more considerate though.

 

“This way” Satin snuck them into the servants door, “I’m his steward,” He admitted. He hadn’t looked like a solider anyways. 

 

“Are you presentable, Jon?” Satin called out. By the casual tones she guessed that they were close friends. The antechamber was empty but there was a fire burning in the bedchambers. 

 

“I told you, I don’t need a steward, Satin. I never needed one. Why aren’t you at the feast?” He didn’t sound like the boy she remembered but he was a man grown now not a boy of ten and three. They entered the bedchambers slowly. A man with thick dark curls sat at the table in a pair of breeches and a loose tunic. He was reading over thick files. She couldn’t see him too well, the light was dim, but he looked similar to her father, though leaner. 

 

“Are you Jon Snow?” She questioned softly. He looked up in surprise at the sound of her voice. He clearly hadn’t expected a female in his chambers.

 

“I am” He nodded slowly, “And you are?”

 

“You do not recognize me?” She could not blame him. She looked nothing like the girl of ten and one that used to torment him. She felt uneasy now. He didn’t even recognize her. She had never been nice to him as a child. He had no reason to help her. He might just turn her into Stannis or worse, her father.

 

“Her name is Alayne. She said she met you once when her father took her North” Pyp explained quickly. Jon looked even more puzzled now. 

 

“I do not know anyone by that name” He stated slowly, “Who are you? How do you know me?”

 

“She’s Baelish’s daughter” Pyp answered before she could speak.

 

‘No, I’m not his daughter, I’m-” She was interrupted by the door banging open. Stannis Baratheon, her father, Lord Nestor, and several guards rushed in, wielding their swords. 

 

“Seize her!” Her father yelled, pointing towards her. Before she could even react, two of the guards had her in their grips. She cried out in pain, struggling against them. They were going to take her away. She had ruined everything. He would never trust her again. She would be his forever. It made her want to weep.

 

“Are you harmed, your Grace?” One of the guards questioned. She looked to Stannis in confusion, but it was Jon was answered.

 

“No” He answered, stepping closer to them, “What is the meaning of this?”

 

“My apologies, your Grace” Her father told Jon quickly, though he stared straight at her, his eyes angry, “My daughter is not well. I am afraid that she has a tendency to lie and deceive for sport. She is usually harmless, but I fear that your arrival has deranged her,” She was too busy wondering what they meant by addressing Jon as your Grace. Had he taken her brother’s title? Though she didn’t want it, she never thought Jon would take it, “I must escort her back to her chambers. Meryn, call the maester”

 

“No, wait” Jon stopped them from pulling her from the chambers.

 

“Your Grace, I must insist. My daughter is not well. She had Red Fever as a child, it has addled her brain. Please, she will answer for her crimes when she is lucid” Her father lied smoothly. She would answer for nothing. She would not live past this day. She could see it in his pale eyes. Her death would just be another end game. He would find another path to reach his goals.

 

She struggled harder against the guard holding her, biting his hand until she drew blood. He removed is hand, yelping in pain.

 

‘Jon! He’ll kill me, please, just listen” She managed to beg through a mouth full of blood before another guard was covering her mouth and twisting her arm behind her back to subdue her. Jon looked intrigued. She knew that he would take pity on her, the bastard daughter. He was always a kind person, to a fault, just like their father. 

 

“Let her go” Jon ordered. The guard hesitated and looked towards her father, “I said to let her go” Jon repeated, his voice a growl.She stumbled as the guard released her, nearly falling to the ground.

 

“Thank you” She whispered, wiping the guards blood from her mouth.

 

“What did you mean when you said that he would kill you?” Jon questioned.

 

“If I tell you, you must restrain him, because he will try to escape,” She told them. Petyr was already backing towards the door. One of the burly looking guards stood in front of it; hand on the pommel of his sword.

 

“There, he is not going anywhere”

 

‘Not that I would try” Her father added, “The falsities of an ill child will not intimidate me. You are my daughter, Alayne, I would never harm you. I just want the best for you”

 

“You are not my father,” She told him, “You murdered my father” 

 

“Do not lie, Alayne” Petyr scolded, “I protected you, I took you in when no one else would. I clothed you, gave you shelter and food. I treated you far better then you deserved. Think what will happen when they know what you did, the atrocities you have committed,”

 

“I did nothing” She wasn’t at fault for Joffrey’s death. She wasn’t the one that murdered him. She knew they couldn’t prove it, but she had to cover her tracks too. Stannis was a tricky one. He was too just, “You must promise to give me amnesty, your Grace” She looked to Stannis, her eyes pleading.

 

“I am not the King you should be seeking amnesty from” He answered, nodding towards where Jon stood.

 

“And why should I grant you amnesty?” Jon questioned.

 

“I can tell you all of his secrets. I can tell you how he killed Lady Lysa Arryn, how he poisons Lord Arryn still, and how he murdered Ser Harold Hardying, heir to the Eyrie” She told him, “And I can tell you how he played a major role in the killing of the entire Stark line” That seemed to peek Jon’s interest. She knew that it would.

 

“Then I grant you amnesty, Alayne Stone” He replied easily. She would have done the same thing in his position. She knew that he wanted answers to her family’s demise.  

 

“I suppose we should start there. My name is not Alayne Stone,” She told him, “My name is Sansa Stark”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll post the next chapter Tuesday/Wednesday hopefully. Thank you so much for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa makes her choice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to present time! Thanks for reading everyone, sorry it's a day late. My works are unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine. Let me know what you think!

**Chapter 3**

**The North**

**The Godswood of Winterfell**

**Queen Sansa Stark**

**306 AC**

 

She dreamt of his death that night. She watched in horror as the sword tore into his stomach, as blood soaked through his tunic, as the snow stained red. And when she woke up, she realized he really was gone. He wasn’t there.The events of yesterday worked their way back into her mind, leaving her breathless and empty. She ran her hand over the left side of her makeshift bed. He always slept to her left. For the past few years, he had slept to her left. He could grab his sword better from the left side. But the bed was cold and empty, a bitter reminder that her beloved was indeed dead.

 

“Oh, Jon” She whispered, wiping at the tears now forming. She caught sight of the leather cord wrapped around her wrist, something he always wore on his own wrist. She stroked the warm leather and sucked in a huge breath, trying to calm herself. She had to be strong right now. She could not mourn him right now. There was no time for that.

 

“Queen Sansa?” The maid knocked quietly at the doorframe. She could see the outline of the guards beyond her. Lady Maege and the Greatjon stood guard. She expected no one else, “Do you wish to break your fast first?”

 

“No” She shook her head, sitting up straighter. Jon’s cloak was tangled around her shoulders. She had fallen asleep breathing in his scent. It still smelt like him, though it was fading fast, “Have everything we have cooked and distributed. A breakfast feast” She told her maid.

 

“Are you sure, your Grace?”

 

‘Positive” She nodded, “Have the kitchen workers begin immediately. Everything is to be consumed, food, wine, everything”

 

“Yes, your Grace”

 

“And have the Red Priestess sent to the Godswood” She told her. She had made her choice. Thinking about it had made it easier. She would be saving everyone, her entire family and her people. Her love life was of little consequence if it meant everyone else got to live. Jon had the chance to live, and that made it worth it. She would find a way to make it back to him; she knew if the Gods wanted them together, it would happen. She had to have faith.

 

“Yes, your Grace” The maid dipped low before leaving her alone. The chambers she found herself in had been her mother’s. They were the warmest in the ruined remains of her childhood home. She got out of the bed slowly, stretching her limbs. They felt strange. She hadn’t slept in such a comfortable bed for ages. She grabbed her clothing from the wardrobe and dressed herself quickly, securing her blade to her belt.

 

Jon had taught her how to defend herself, how to fight. He had commissioned the thin sword she carried from one of the blades Ice had been melted down into. It still had a reddish tint to it from where Tywin Lannister had tried to dye it. The pommel matched his own blade, Longclaw. It was a snarling wolf but with sapphire eyes to match her own. It was thin, small enough for her to handle comfortably. It reminded her of the blade Jon had commissioned for Arya before they left. 

 

“Your Grace?” Maege Mormont had entered the room, concern written all over her face, “Are you alright?”

 

“I am fine” She nodded.

 

“The maid says that you ordered a feast with all of the supplies”

 

“I did” She nodded.

 

“We will be left with nothing, your Grace” Maege told her. She probably thought she had gone mad with grief. She decided to trust Maege though. She knew the woman had lost everything in the War. The wights had destroyed Bear Island, after all. Maege was just as alone as she was now. She would understand.

 

“If you had the chance to go back and fix the past, would you?” She questioned, “Would you stop your nephew from marrying that Lyseni? Stop your daughter from going to war? Stop your brother from leaving you alone?”

 

“You cannot erase the past, your Grace”

 

“I cannot, no, but the Red Priestess can” She told her, “And today, she is going to fix this realm, Lady Mormont”

 

“Your Grace, you cannot trust her”

 

“What choice do I have, Lady Mormont?” She questioned, “Our people will die, from starvation, from the cold, and from the wights. There is no one left to save us, to even help us and we cannot do it alone. I have made my choice”

 

“Magic comes with a price, your Grace” Maege warned her, “It always comes with a price. Jon knew that price well. You saw how dead inside he was after he was brought back. It was a terrible burden,”

 

“But that did not last”

 

“No, your presence fixed it” Maege admitted quietly. She never knew that Jon, at least, not long. Many said it was amazing how quickly he seemed to regain his old personality the second she embraced him all those years ago in the Vale. She had heard Maege and others speak of it though, and it sounded like it was awful. Jon himself spoke of it little, and what little she learned from him, was horrifying. His memories of the past were faded, only Arya stood out. He spoke of completely forgetting what Rickon, Bran, and their father looked like. He told her how it felt as if he were on fire, how sometimes it hurt others when he touched them. His skin burned them. 

 

“The price of this magic is different, Lady Mormont. The Red Priestess will reset time; she will undo and fix what happened in the Rebellion. She will prevent it and thus, prevent this”

 

“My lady, surely you know that the start of the rebellion is the only reason your father ended up with your brother’s betrothed”

 

“I know that, Maege. But the lives of the many outweigh the lives of the few. I would sacrifice my life for the lives of my people” She told her.

 

“Your siblings-”

 

“Are dead, Maege. They are dead. And if my parents are not together in this new realm, then they will remain as dead as they are now,” It was cold to say, but the truth,“I have been told the risks, the cost of this, but it is a price I am all to willing to pay,”

 

“Your Grace-”

 

“My decision is final, Maege” She told her quietly, cutting her off, “Please, try to understand”

 

“I do understand” Maege replied, “But what guarantee do you have from this woman? What is to say that this new world will be any better?”

 

“I have no guarantee. But what could be worse then this?” She reached out and placed her hand on Maege’s shoulder, “You have been a great friend and advisor, Maege Mormont. Please, go spend what is left of this life finding your peace. Say goodbye to those that you cherish that have survived and prayers to those that have not. Tell the Greatjon to do the same. I will be in the Godswood. Do not look for me”

 

She left Maege in her chambers, passing the Greatjon, and heading towards the Godswood. Several people greeted her as she walked towards the Godswood. She greeted back politely and tried to keep moving. By the time she reached the Godswood though, she was grateful to be there and away from them all.

 

“My Queen” The Red Woman’s voice startled her, her hand going to the pommel of her blade immediately.

 

“Melisandre” She nodded.

 

“Have you made your decision?”

 

“Did you not see my decision in your flames?” She quipped. Jon had hated when she spoke as such to the priestess, but she could not help the cynicism that leaked into her words. Even now, with the woman saving them all, she was skeptical. She had to move past it though. She had to be strong.

 

“Yes, I have seen it, the choice you made,” She nodded, “But I need to hear it from your lips, Queen Sansa. Tell me aloud what you have decided”

 

“To take your second chance,” She replied, “To erase and rewrite time”

 

“Good” She nodded and stepped forward, “Then we will begin immediately”

 

“So soon?” She questioned. Her breakfast feast was probably still cooking. She wanted them all to have one last meal, one last thing to celebrate. The dawning of a new age, in a new realm.

 

“I am afraid so, your Grace” Melisandre answered, “My magic dwindles as the days pass by. We need to act fast so that I can do this properly,”

 

“Of course” She nodded.

 

“I will gather my things and return to this place in a half of an hour” She told her, “Make sure that you are here,”

 

“I will be” She promised. Melisandre nodded and left her. She followed behind her, making her way to the castle. She would take one last look around before she left this realm for good.  

 

The Great Hall was abuzz with activity. Everyone was eating and having a good time. They were moving forward with their lives, putting the past behind them. They looked warm and healthy. Several toasted her as she breezed past them, towards the hallway that would lead her to the sept.

 

The beautiful place of worship was destroyed beyond recognition. There was nothing left. She knelt on apiece of the broken alter and said a quick prayer to the Seven, for her mother’s sake. She did not believe in them any more. The Seven had done nothing for her.

 

Once she was done there she moved onto the remains of the glass gardens. The winter roses were destroyed, crumpled and broken. She and Jon had spoke about restoring them in time. But they never got that time, did they?

 

She moved onto the family wing then, to her old chambers and her siblings’. Nothing was the same but if she closed her eyes, she could picture the past. She could see Arya throwing unfolded piles of silk into her trunk, she could see Bran laying in his sickbed, Summer at his feet. She could picture Robb and Jon’s rooms, beside each other at the end of the hallway. She could see them both, leaving their chambers in their sparring gear, eagerly jabbing at each other. In the nursery she could see Rickon biting his toys, terrorizing his nurses. 

 

But when she opened her eyes, all she saw was death.

 

She moved onto her father’s solar then, a place they had always thought magical when they were children. It was intact but it wasn’t the same. The ledgers were half burnt, and the great leather chair was broken in two. His desk stood strong, but it lacked something without him sitting behind it.

 

“Forgive me, father,” She whispered, her hand ghosting over the desk, “Forgive me for all that I have done, all that I am about to do”

 

She moved on then, to the last room she had to see before she met Melisandre again. It was the room where Jon’s body would be, waiting for someone to take his bones to rest in the crypts. She didn’t have to go there, none of her family members had made it back to the crypts. Not even Lady.

 

“Your Grace, you shouldn’t be here” The maester told her quietly as she entered the room. He was a former brother of Jon’s, his name was Samwell Tarly. She knew he had family in the South. 

 

“I had to see him one last time,” She whispered, gently caressing his dark curls. He looked like he was sleeping. She moved her hand down his face, cupping his cheek, “He’s cold” 

 

“The dead are cold, your Grace” Sam told her bitterly. She knew that he was hurting over the loss of his best friend. He had lost his wife and their son. Jon was all that the large maester had left.

 

“Jon was never cold,” She whispered in explanation. Jon constantly burned a fever. He was always hot to the touch no matter what weather. It was his dragon blood, brought to life by his funeral pyre, or so the Red Woman claimed. The warmth never bothered her. She was always cold, after all. They suited each other perfectly.

 

“I am sorry for you loss, Queen Sansa”

 

“And I for yours, Sam” She answered.

 

“Jon was my best friend. He protected me in training, your Grace. He was like a brother to me. The world will be a dark place without him”

 

“Aye, that it will be” She whispered, “Can you give me a moment alone with him?” She questioned.

 

“Of course” Sam nodded, bowing his blonde head and disappearing. She gripped Jon’s rigid hand and bowed her head.

 

“I’m going to fix this, my love” She whispered softly, “The world will be right this time. You’ll have a real family, parents that love you and siblings that claim you as their own. And I will find you. We will be together again, Jon. I promise you that” She leaned forward and kissed his icy lips, “I will love you no matter what realm we live in, Jon Snow”

 

She pulled herself away from him and left the room, passing Maester Samwell on her way out. He simply nodded, going back to preparing Jon’s corpse. She walked back to the godswood, ready now.

 

Melisandre stood by the hot springs, an alter built before her. Fire lined most of it, though there was a gap where she knew she would have to fit herself into.

 

“Your blood, your Grace” Lady Melisandre told her, brandishing a dagger. She offered up her arm, allowing a line to be sliced up the middle. She felt no pain. Her blood dripped into the flames, sizzling. “You must lay in the middle, your Grace,” She told her, helping her lie on top of the stone dais. She knew that in a few short minutes fire would surround her. It always did, “Are you sure you want this, Sansa of House Stark?”

 

“I am” She spoke clearly.

 

“Then may you find your light in even the darkest of places, Sansa Stark” She spoke lowly. “Think of your husband. Think of happier times” She advised as the fires started to build around her.

 

Melisandre chanted in a foreign tongue as the flames danced higher and higher around her. She gripped the leather cord tight between her finger, holding onto whatever of Jon she could. She could feel the heat against her; she could feel the smoke settling into her lungs.

 

_She thought of Jon. She thought about his silken dark ringlets and the way they felt slipping through her fingers. His eyes would always slip shut in contentment when she did that, he would lean into her hand._

 

The flames were getting closer now. She could feel the burns starting to form. She wanted to scream.

 

_She thought of his eyes, grey and dark, so serious yet so soft around her. The Stark grey that reminded her so much of her father and Arya. She thought of his smile, and the way he always seemed happy to see her. Even after the worst battle, he smiled when he saw her. He smiled yesterday, even as he slipped away._

 

The fire licked at her clothing, burning through. She did scream now, she screamed in pure agony as she fought against it.

 

_She thought about his lips, the softness they held no matter where he kissed. His lips were a wondrous thing.She thought about his voice, the low timber and the soft-spoken way he had about him. She thought about the words that fell from his lips underneath the furs, the filthy things that made her mad with lust._

 

The pain was excruciating. She was burning alive.

 

_She pictured him, dying beneath her, his grey eyes soft and peaceful. She thought of the way he waited until she got to him, waited for her to pass onto the next life. He had waited for her, held on to see her one last time._

 

The pain was too much. She was slipping away. She could feel herself drifting off. 

 

_Over the sound of her own screams, she heard his voice on the howling wind. Meslisandre’s chants drifted out of focus as his voice took over. “I love you more, wife,”_

 

And just like that, the world she lived in was no more.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa finds herself in a new realm with a new set of challenges, including the reminder of the girl she used to be, and a family that distrusts her. She struggles to keep calm not knowing where Jon is and how to find him in this new realm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late! I tweaked a few things, changed a little bit, and added some more details, which I hope you enjoy. I've decided to do small flash backs within the present time frame instead of whole chapters of flash backs. Once I finish this, I have a prequel to it all outlined and half written about the war and the beginning of it all, along with a sequel which will make more sense when I finish publishing this piece. Enjoy, and thank you for reading!

**Chapter 4**

**The North**

**Winterfell Castle**

**Lady Sansa Stark**

**302 AC**

 

She woke up feeling strange. Her bed was too soft, her fur too warm. It was too perfect. She hadn’t slept so well since before the War, before the capital even. She rolled over and burrowed further into the warm linens before realizing what it all meant.

 

“Oh” She bolted up in bed, looking around the chambers she was in. They appeared to be her childhood chambers, though they were slightly different. She sprang from the bed, nearly tripping over something on the ground.

 

“Oh, Lady!” She exclaimed, taking in the sight of the massive wolf. She had the same coloring and markings as Lady had as a pup but she was larger. She threw her arms around the wolf, hugging her tightly, “Oh, my little wolf” She cooed, tearing up at the sight of the wolf. Lady, ever the docile creature, allowed her attentions. The wolf whimpered and swatted her paw at her before jumping into the bed. She wasn’t sure what the previous version of herself had allowed, but she wouldn’t kick the wolf off. She patted her once more before going towards her vanity.

 

She went to her looking glass, staring at a reflection that was her own but different. This face was smoother and paler, the color of cream. This version of her had not spent all day outside with the sun and the biting winds. Her blue eyes were bright and her lips full and pink. There were no scars on her neck or chest. Her auburn hair was long and plaited with ribbon at the end. Her hands were smooth, devoid of all callouses. She smiled faintly as she saw the leather cord tied to her left wrist, his leather cord. She would find him as soon as possible, she swore to herself. She tucked the idea of him not being in this realm into the far recesses of her mind, and looked back to the mirror. If she had to guess, she would say that she was probably ten and six again. The Red Woman had warned her of that. 

 

“My lady?” A maid had entered her chambers and was now looking at her in confusion, no doubt wondering why she was marveling over her hands, “Are you well?” The maid questioned when she didn’t answer.

 

“Of course, thank you” She replied brightly, “I am just eager to start my day” The maid looked skeptical but nodded.

 

“If you say so, my lady. Your mother will be glad,” 

 

“Will she?” She questioned, not knowing what the maid was referring to.

 

“Of course, my lady” The maid told her, laying out a traveling dress. They were going somewhere apparently. Now that she looked around, she realized her room was rather sparse, like she had packed things away. There was a trunk in the corner as well, waiting to go.

 

“Have you ever been?” She asked her maid as she undid the plaits in her hair, hoping to get an idea about where she was headed.

 

“I have not, my lady. I’ve never left the North” The maid replied. That narrowed it down the rest of the realm then.

 

“Do you think I shall like it?” She questioned, again hoping for some answers or clues about where she was headed. She stepped into her gown as she did so, breathing deeply as she laced the stays.

 

“You are your mother’s daughter, Lady Sansa, you were meant for the South, for the pretty words and white knights,” There was something insulting about the way the maid spoke to her. It irked her. 

 

“I am a Stark of Winterfell, I have the blood of the North,” She answered reflexively. She was a wolf. She was made of ice. She wouldn’t fall into the same trap in this world as she had in the other, “Your services are no longer required, thank you”

 

“But your hair, my lady-”

 

“You are dismissed,” She repeated slowly. Her hair was fine. She would plait it herself or leave it down. 

 

“Of course, my lady” The maid stuttered, fleeing the room as soon as she could. She felt of tad bit guilty, but it abated as soon as she smelt something heavenly. She looked to the tray that the woman had brought and picked up a warm biscuit. She hadn’t eaten anything proper in ages. The porridge was thick and filled with oats and winter berries. She ate it all without regret. 

 

When she was finished she took a deep breath and prepared to find her family. She was bursting at the seams with excitement. She whistled for Lady to wake up. The wolf lazily lifted her head.

 

“Lady, to me” She told her. The wolf got out of the bed and padded over, nuzzling her palm, “Good girl” She whispered as she pulled the doors open. The hall was empty. None of her siblings were racing around, not a sound could be heard. Out of curiosity, she walked towards the end of the hallway, where Jon’s room had been as a boy. 

 

The door was open and a maid was making the bed. From the mess of toys on the ground and the small tunic she could espy hanging from the bedpost, it was most likely Rickon’s room in this realm. 

 

Lady nudged her palm, as if ushering her forward. She had to keep moving. She knew that if it all worked out Jon would not still be with them in Winterfell. She wanted him to be with his family, which if the rebellion never happened, meant he was in the capital, hopefully. She had to focus on Winterfell now, and then she would plan a way to get to the South. 

 

“Come” She told the wolf, starting towards the Great Hall. Hopefully she would find someone there. She passed servants and maids but she did not recognize any of them specifically. And then she heard the tell tale clink of a maester’s chain. She whipped around, searching for Luwin.

 

“Maester Luwin!” She called as she spotted the older man. He was eyes deep in a tome of some sort. He looked up startled before he saw her.

 

“Lady Sansa” He greeted, bowing his head, “Good morning”

 

“Good morning, Maester” She greeted with a smile. He too seemed a bit confused at her smile, “Have you seen my mother?”

 

“I believe she is in the Godswood with your father” Maester Luwin replied, which meant that she could not go to them now. They went to the Godswood together to be alone with each other, to pray and whatnot.

 

“And the rest of them?”

 

“I believe Lord Bran is breaking his fast in the Great Hall and Lord Rickon is running half naked through the western corridor, refusing his bath”

 

“Thank you, Maester” She told him with a curtsey, hurrying towards the western corridor. It was between the family wing and the corridor that led to the outside. If she was ten and six, then that made Rickon seven or eight, depending on the moons. Rickon was born towards the end of her eighth year, closer to her ninth. If she were newly ten and six, then Rickon would be seven, but if she were nearing her ten and seventh name day, Rickon would be eight.

 

“Rickon Stark!” She called out as the half naked child ran through the hall before her. Rickon stopped so fast that he nearly fell forward. He looked to her, his big blue eyes wide with fright. He was covered in dirt and sweat, probably having been outside recently. He wore just his breeches, no tunic or shirt. He looked down as she continued to stare at him.

 

“Lady Sansa, Lord Rickon was just about to have his bath” A young maid came bustling out of a door, grabbing Rickon by the arm. Rickon sagged in defeat, “He was just stepping out for a moment,”

 

“I was going to bathe, I swear it. Don’t tell mother” She couldn’t imagine ratting her little brother out for something as trivial as not bathing, but she supposed that had she continued to grow up as she had before the war, she could have grown into the sort that did that thing. She sighed. She had hoped she wouldn’t be as awful as she imagined, but it seemed that she was. She would just have to fix that then.

 

“What were you doing this morning, Rickon?” She questioned, crouching to his level. He looked up at her, head cocked like he was deciding on whether to tell her or not.

 

“Practicing on my pony” He admitted after a few minutes, “Robb was showing me how to go faster then what father had taught me,”

 

“And you ended up in the mud?”

 

“I fell off” He muttered, “Robb laughed”

  
“That was very unkind of Robb,” She told him, “Mayhap you will let me teach you instead”

 

“You don’t know how to ride, Sansa” Rickon pointed out.

 

‘Of course I do” She retorted. She might not know in this realm, but she certainly knew how in the other. Despite her early beliefs in horses being dirty and unladylike, there was nothing more thrilling then racing through open fields on horseback, the wind whipping your hair and the wind biting your cheeks. It was freedom in its purest form, “I can teach you on our journey”

 

“Are you ill, Sansa?” Rickon questioned, reaching forward to palm her forehead, “You’re acting strange,”

 

“No, I am not ill. I am just eager to start our journey” She repeated the same words she had told her maid earlier in the day,“How long do you think it’ll take us, Rickon?”

 

“Father says it’s a two days ride to White Harbor” Rickon replied, “And then a sennight on the ship” She tried to figure out where a sennight’s trip on a ship from White Harbor would land, but it could be anywhere depending on the season. If the water was with them, they could go all the way to Dorne in that time, or as close as the Vale. She was hoping it was the capital though.

 

“Lord Rickon really must bathe now, Lady Sansa” The maid interrupted, “You leave in an hour”

 

“Of course” She nodded, “I shall see you then, little wolf” She tweaked his nose and stood, continuing on her path towards the Great Hall.

 

She almost didn’t recognize her brother as she nearly collided with him. He was so old, older then he ever had the chance to be in their first world. He resembled their uncle Edmure, though he looked much stronger and more handsome.

 

“Robb” She exclaimed, bracing her hands against his chest as she avoided running into him as she turned the corner.

 

“Sister,” He greeted, nodding his head. His auburn curls were long. He needed a haircut. She found herself smiling at him just because he was alive enough to warrant a haircut. She was going mad, “Stop smiling. It’s strange”

 

“I cannot smile?”

 

‘I half expected you to be barred in your room, refusing to leave”

 

“I am excited about our journey, brother” She told him, “Why would I not wish to go?”

 

“Sansa, just yesterday you were refusing to go and now you’re all for it?” Robb asked skeptically, raising his brow, “You do not need to be jealous. Father will make you a proper match when he finds someone worthy” She was both elated and concerned at his statement. She was happy that she was not engaged to anyone else, but they were clearly going somewhere for someone to marry, and she was not happy about it.

 

“Why would I be jealous, Robb?” She questioned.

 

“Do not play coy with me, Sansa” Robb sighed, “I have to go to the stables to make sure everything is in proper order for father,”

 

‘The stables?” She questioned, recalling her conversation with Rickon, “Can you switch my side saddle for a regular one?”

 

“You’re going to ride without a sidesaddle?” Robb questioned skeptically, raising his brow once more.

 

“Yes” She nodded.

 

‘Sansa have you ever ridden without the sidesaddle?”

 

“I will make you a deal, brother. If I can indeed ride astride like everyone else in the party, then you shall owe me a pair of new slippers”

 

“And if you can’t?”

 

“Then I shall owe you something. Name your price”

 

“I did not think it was ladylike to gamble, Lady Sansa” Robb mocked, “And I suppose I could use some of that fine embroidering of yours on my new cloak,”

 

“Then we have a deal” She offered him her gloved hand.

 

“Deal” He answered, shaking her hand firmly, pulling her closer to him, “I don’t know what your game is, Sansa, but I hope for your sake that this isn’t an act” He whispered. She pulled away and scowled at him. That had hurt. She didn’t know if she deserved it or not though. Robb walked away anyhow. 

 

She had gathered some information so far. She knew she was not the best of siblings, which was evident from her interactions with Robb and Rickon. She knew they were traveling a sennight’s distance down the coast. They were leaving the North. Someone was getting married and she was jealous. She prayed to all the gods that it wasn’t Jon getting married, but she figured Robb would have said something to the sort, since he was their cousin, if he even was their cousin. She still had no idea if he alive or not. It was killing her inside.

 

“Sansa!” She wasn’t even sure where she was walking towards, but she had ended up back in the corridor her chambers were in. She saw a brunette with a long braid sticking her head out of a doorway, calling her name, “Sansa, stupid, come here” It was Arya.

 

She looked so different then nine-year-old Arya. She was tall, but still shorter then herself. She was willowy and graceful looking, with sharp features and big grey eyes. 

 

“I know you’re too busy hating me, but I messed up” Arya told her, holding out a cloak to her. It was grey and white, a Stark maiden’s cloak. 

 

Arya was the one getting married, and she was jealous because Arya was the younger sister. And she was young, only about fourteen if she had to guess. Arya and she had barely two years between them. It was the same age that Margaery had married Renly in the old world. 

 

“How did you mess it up?” She questioned, realizing that the hem was indeed torn. Arya must have scraped it on something. It was an easy enough fix, “I see it now”

 

“Can you fix it?” Arya questioned.

 

“I want something in return,” She answered.

 

“Of course you do” Arya rolled her eyes, “What is it? An apology? For me to cancel the wedding?”

 

“Two things, I suppose,” She told her, “One, do you love him?”

 

“Do I what?” Arya looked confused. 

 

“Do you love him, Arya?” She questioned, “Do you actually wish to marry him?”

 

“Of course I wish to marry him. I wouldn’t have agreed to it had I not wanted to marry him, Sansa,” She replied after a few minutes. She didn’t say whether she loved him or not, but she supposed her answer was good enough. She wondered who her sister was marrying though. 

 

“And you will not mind living there instead of in the North?” She questioned, hoping that her sister would let slip the location of her future home.

 

“It will be warmer, yes, but I can handle it” Arya scoffed, “Gods, what is wrong with you today?”

 

“I have a second thing, remember?”

 

“Fine, go ahead”

 

“A pair of breeches”

 

An hour later she was standing with her sister looking at the horses before them. True to his word, Robb led a saddled palfrey to her, grinning. 

 

“Are you wearing breeches?” He questioned. Arya had leant her a pair. They were a little short on her, but with her riding boots, which she found tucked away in the back of her wardrobe, they were fine. She had had to borrow a woolen tunic as well. Everything of Arya’s was grey. Her white cloak stood out against the charcoal color, “Did you hit your head this morning, Sansa?” He questioned.

 

“No, I did not” She replied, taking the reigns from Robb. She patted the horses’ snout, sneaking a sugar cube out of her saddlebag, “What’s her name, again?” She questioned.

 

“Sansa?” A deeper voice from behind her startled her. She turned around slowly, not quite believing her ears.But there he stood, tall and broad, with his head secured to his shoulders. He looked exactly the same as he had in the past, younger even. The war clearly hadn’t aged him since it had never happened. Her mother stood before him, eyes alert and skin not decaying or rotting. 

 

“Good morning, father” She greeted smiling wildly before she broke and hugged him. He hugged back after a second, probably confused as to why she was hugging him. She broke away and hugged her mother, “Mother”

 

“I think she’s ill,” Robb told them as she pulled away. Her mother felt her forehead. She knew she had no fever.

 

“She’s cold if anything” Her mother replied, “Are you warm enough in that clothing, love?”

 

“I’m not ill, and the cold does not bother me, mother,” She swatted her mother’s hand away, still grinning, “I am excited for my sister and for the journey we are about to embark on”

 

“So excited that your forgot that name of your own horse?” Her father questioned, “Her name is Jonquil” She should have thought of that one, it was obvious.

 

“I was jesting, father” She replied easily. Lies still came easily to her in this realm. She had even practiced her masks in the mirror, and they held.

 

“Robb tells me you asked to not ride side saddle” Her father continued, “Is that true?”

 

“Yes, father” She replied, pointing to the regular saddle atop Jonquil’s caramel colored back, “I will ride just like everyone else”

 

“We wish to believe the best in your, my daughter, but if this is some ploy to avoid making it to your sister’s wedding, it will not work and we will be very displeased” He told her slowly, letting their words sink in. Like Robb’s words, it stung to hear her father say that. She must have truly been awful in this original world.

 

“I assure you, father, mother, it is not a ploy,” She told them a bit stiffly. Truth be told, she was not used to having parental control. She had been on her own for so long that she had forgotten what parents were like. The disappoint hurt. The tone of his voice angered her as well. But she was still beyond ecstatic to see them both. She would endure their disbelief until she could sway them. They were all alive. Everything else was secondary.

 

“Then I shall believe you for the time being” Her father replied, patting her cheek as he left her with her mother. She looked over her, no doubt wondering why she was wearing breeches.

 

“You are a beautiful girl, Sansa. The North has squandered your beauty, but the South will be your redemption. You will thrive in the southern courts. The North is too simple for you, love. There is no need for you to try to copy your sister. We will find you a man worthy of you,” Her mother’s words were both a compliment and an insult. She had clearly turned to schemes and the like, but she knew better now. She did not need jewels or crowns or white knights. Life wasn’t a song, and even in this realm where things looked so well, she knew there would be some trouble down the end of the line. There had to be.

 

Her mother walked away after that as well. Everyone was making sure everything was perfect for travel. The rest of her siblings were inspecting their horses, checking their shoes and such. One quick glance at Jonquil’s shoes assured her they were fine, and she set about securing her saddlebag, and the blanket she had procured. She knew her soft thighs and muscles would ache after the first ride, so she brought it in advance. 

“I think you’re doing the right thing, Sansa” She hadn’t even noticed Bran before he standing right behind her. His blue eyes were watching her, looking through her almost. She knew from the previous world that Bran was special. 

 

“Thank you, Bran” She told him. She reached out and ruffled his long auburn curls, “Where is Summer?” She questioned.

 

“The wolves went ahead of us” Bran replied, “You seem different this morning, sister. Not ill, just different. Something made you change, did it not?”

 

“A dream, Bran. You’ve had that sort of dream before, haven’t you?” She questioned. She hoped Bran still dreamt in this realm.

 

“I have, yes” Bran replied, nodding.

 

“Well, I’ve decided to give myself a second chance because you only get one life, and life is sometimes short. I’ve decided to make mine count”

 

“I think that is very wise of you, Sansa” Bran told her,“If you need help with that, you can always come to me, I’ll believe you”

 

“Thank you, Bran” She hugged him then. Like hugging her father, she just couldn’t resist. The last time she had seen Bran in the previous word, he was clinging to death. He was alive and well now, though, and being her friend. It warmed her heart.

 

The horn signaling the beginning of their journey sounded, and the household guard that would be accompanying them got in formation. The rest of the household guard and staff stood lining their path to the gates. She noticed her Uncle Benjen in the ranks. He must have returned so that there could be a Stark in Winterfell, or perhaps he had never left for the Wall. She would figure that one out later.

 

“Do you require assistance, Lady Sansa?” One of the stable boys asked, a mounting block in his hand. She noted that her mother used one to get on her own horse, but no one else did.

 

“No, though I thank you” She replied. She checked the girth and the stirrups before she grabbed the reins and pulled them towards her. She put her left leg in the stirrup and grabbed the horn of the saddle, hoisting herself up and swinging her right leg over the other side. Her muscles protested a bit, but it was easy enough, “Good girl, Jonquil” She murmured, scratching the horses’ ear. 

 

“Have you been practicing?” Bran questioned as he rode over on his own horse. He had a smaller horse, though it was bigger then Rickon’s pony. 

 

“I know how to ride a horse, Bran. It is not my first time, is it?”

 

“No, but the last time you rode astride was when you were seven and father was teaching you on that lame pony” Robb answered as he saddled up to them.

 

“There is a pair of new slippers at stake” She answered primly, “Are we going to chat all day or should we follow the rest of the household?” They were already leaving the gates. Her parents were waving to them, Rickon and Arya beside them on their mounts. 

 

“How about we double that bet, sister?” Robb suggested as they turned their mounts, “A race to the river bridge,” She knew that the river bridge was not far from their starting point.

 

“Deal” She replied as she kicked Jonquil into a faster pace. She heard Robb’s shout of “Unfair” as she raced past the guard. She veered Jonquil towards the left side of the road, where the others weren’t riding. There was no one coming the other way. She could hear Robb shouting behind her as she went faster and faster.

 

She passed the last of the guard and brought Jonquil towards the middle of the road, so that it would be difficult for Robb to pass. She ducked her head lower as the wind whipped against her skin, sending her unbound hair flying in the wind. 

 

“Cheater!” Robb was just behind her now.She risked a look behind her. He was really close.

 

“Come on, Jonquil” She murmured, tightening her grip on the horses flank, urging her to go just a tiny bit quicker. She had to swerve to avoid a downed branch but Jonquil jumped easily, even without command. 

 

She could see the river bridge before her now. It was so close, but a look behind her told her that Robb was close as well.

 

“You’ll never win, Robb!” She called behind her, her hair whipping over her face. She wiped it away with one hand while the other held tightly to the reins. She wasn’t about to lose now.

 

“Whoa” She slowed Jonquil down as she reached the bridge. Robb slowed his own horse down as he approached.

 

“You cheated” He accused.

 

“I did not” She replied, “You’re just upset that you lost to a girl. Now you owe me a pair of slippers and pretty soon you’ll owe me another”

 

“Who are you and what have you done to my sister?” Robb questioned.

 

“I had the most awful of dreams, Robb, and it made me realize I have to change,” She told him, “So I am”

 

“Must have been a hell of a dream,” Robb muttered. The rest of the party was catching up now. When they arrived, they were both berated for going beyond the scope of the guards, and then told to get back into the line. Her parents rode beside each other with Rickon in between, while Bran rode behind them, and Arya rode next to Rodrik. She fell in line next to Bran.

 

They rode until midday, where they stopped by a river to have a snack. She led Jonquil towards the river, sitting next to her as she drank. She pulled an apple from her saddlebag and bit in, savoring the taste. It was perfect.

 

They picked up their pace again, riding hard until the sun finally set. They were close to a town though, so they kept riding with their torches to guide them. 

 

“We’ll reach the White Knife by tomorrow midday, and hopefully reach White Harbor before dark. The ship leaves the docks at sunrise” She overheard Jory telling her father, “Lord Manderly is quite eager for your arrival”

 

“Of course he is” Her father chuckled, “He has a granddaughter Robb’s age” Wylla, her name was. She was outspoken and dyed her hair a garnish green in the old world. She wondered what she would be like in this world

 

She heard no more as her mother ushered her into the inn that they would be staying in. She would share the room with Arya, who was already stripping out of her breeches and tunic when she entered. Lady and Nymeria were in the room, lounging by the fire.

 

“Here” Arya tossed her her maiden cloak, “Fix it before mother notices” She told her as she got into the bed. She wanted nothing more then to follow her sister, but she had promised to fix the cloak in exchange for the breeches. She grabbed the small kit Arya had procured somewhere and sat herself close to the fire, between the two wolves.

 

It was a simple fix. Arya had just ripped a small portion of the hem, not the entire thing. It took half of an hour, and then she was finished. She folded it carefully and placed it back in Arya’s trunk. As she was doing so, she noticed a folded letter. Curious, she pulled it out.

 

_‘To my lovely, Arya,_

_No doubt you are scowling as you read that. You had best get used to it though. I plan on using a myriad of different terms of endearment after we are wed, my lovely little wolf”_

 

She stopped reading it then, not wanting to violate Arya’s privacy. She smiled as she folded it, at least Arya would be happy. She noticed the remains of the seal then. It was black and yellow. She could just barely make out the sigil pressed into the broken wax.

 

A stag. Arya was marrying a Baratheon. 

 

  
****

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up, a journey further South!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The trip continues!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the reviews! I love hearing what you guys think will happen.
> 
> Just for a review of ages thus far cause I know it is a little confusing and I did age Arya up to be closer to Sansa: Robb is 18, Sansa is 16, Arya is 15, Bran is 12, Rickon is 7. 
> 
> All other things that have been questioned will be revealed later in the chapters.

**Chapter**   **5**

**Lady Sansa Stark**

**The North**

**White Harbor**

**302 AC**

 

They reached the White Knife by midday and boarded a few ferries to take them downstream. At that point, her thighs were chaffed and aching. She remembered all too clearly how long it had taken in the last world to adjust to riding, and she was not looking forward to it. Her poor skin was going to be rubbed raw by the time they reached their destination. She kept her mask in place though, not wanting to look uncomfortable or in pain. She spoke with Bran most of the journey, letting him entertain her with tales of magic and his climbing adventures.

 

After boarding the ferry, it took a few hours to reach White Harbor. Luckily, the Mander led right up to the Manderley's castle. She had never seen White Harbor in the past world, so it was interesting to see it now. The entire city was buzzing with activity. Most of the activity paused when they arrived. They all shouted out greeting to her father and well wishes to Arya. The wolves danced around the crowds, happy to be free of the ferries they had been confined to. No one seemed to fear them. 

 

From there, they were invited to a feast held by Lord Manderly, who was just as fat as he had been in the previous life. She was glad to see that some things had not changed. It was all rather fast. They had barely washed up from their trip before the feast was beginning. The food was delicious of course. It was plentiful as well. It flowed freely throughout the room in great heaps and piles. The North was clearly thriving, so unlike her former world. She watched all of the Northern men and women dance and smile. Majority were probably dead in her previous world, or on their way to the grave. But here they were in the this new world, happy and fat, sated and joyous. 

 

Of course, thinking about her people made her think of Jon, who she still hadn't heard about. She had hinted at the royal life but no one in her family had taken the bait. She did not want to seem crazy either so she had to be tactful. So far, Bran had given her the most information, but that was just a cursory comment about Uncle Robert and how excited their father was to see him again. There was no mention of Arya's future husband, and she found herself regretting not fully reading the letter to figure out actually who Arya was marrying. For all she knew, it could be Joffrey. She thought not because there was no way in any realm Joffrey would write the things that were written to Arya. It was too kind, too loving.

 

"Come, dance with me sister," Robb pulled her up from her seat, dragging her towards the dance flood where Lord Manderley was dancing with her mother, and her father was dancing with Arya. Robb was a splendid dancer, much improved from the last world. After that set,  Robb was forced to dance and entertain Wylla Manderly, who had normal colored hair in this realm. To her surprise, and grief, she was forced to entertain Wendell Manderly, a man ten years her senior and immensely fat. He just kept talking and talking, refusing to let her get a world in.

 

Arya and the rest of her siblings, save for Robb, snickered behind her back as she was forced to dance with him. He smelt like fish and his doublet was moist with sweat. He was polite though so she took it in stride, keeping a perfectly ladylike smile upon her face as he awkwardly twirled her around the dance floor. When it was over, she thanked him profusely, but begged a break for her travel weary body. He went to open his mouth to speak but she disappeared before he could utter a single word again.

 

She snuck from the feast then, heading towards her guest chambers. She had not lied, she was tired from the river trip. It had made her head spin. She had never gotten motion sickness in the past world; it was surprising to her that she should be sick now. She figured her body was not as hardened as the one in the past, as her chafed thighs were proved well enough. She was still so fragile in this realm, though her mind was not. She went to her room and took out the cloth she had bought from the vendor in White Harbor. It would be her project for the boat ride, breeches that actually fit her.

 

She spent a good hour or two sewing the breeches but she was only half finished when the fatigue overcame her. Her vision swam as her lids became too heavy to keep open. She was too tired so she saved her stitch and folded them carefully in her trunk. She would finish them on the boat to the Stormlands. She curled up into her blankets and slept.

 

She dreamt of him that night.  She hadn’t dreamt of him the night before, she realized. She dreamt of him and his smile. She awoke to his laughter, nearly crying when she realized she could barely recall it once she awoke. Two days in this new realm, and she was forgetting him. It scared her more then she cared to admit.

 

She felt nothing of the void Jon spoke of after being exposed to so much magic. If anything, she felt more then she ever had. She felt grief and sorrow from the last realm still. She was overjoyed by her family and their state of well being. She was desperate for news of Jon and worried about what she might find. If anything, her emotions were heated. She felt a bit out of control with it all, hence the tears that fell from her eyes as she thought of Jon and the morbid possibility that he was not in this realm. 

 

She wiped her tears quickly though, for a maid entered to get her ready for the day. She dressed her in thick breeches and a tunic, pulling her hair into ornate plates that she secured pearl pins into. She did not recognize the pins as her own.

 

“A gift from Lady Wylla” The maid explained, as she looked perplexed at the pins. They contrasted with her breeches, but they were quite beautiful. She allowed her to continue. Once she was dressed and ready, she left with Lady at her heels. The direwolf kept oddly close as they traversed the castle. They were only staying briefly in White Harbor. They would leave as soon as their fasts were broken.  She would have loved to explore the castle more, perhaps learn about their new realm. The Stormlands awaited though.

 

The entire Manderly family waved goodbye to them on the docks. Her father made sure they all waved back together. She nudged Robb as Lady Wylla waved the most enthusiastically. 

 

It wasn’t until they were an hour or two into their journey that she felt her headache return. She was sitting on the top deck with the rest of her family, enjoying the calm seas. For as far as she could see, it was all water. She was seated on a ledge next to Rickon, who was telling her the story of mermen one of the Manderley’s had told it. Her headache started as a dull pain at her temples, then flared across her forehead, sharp and intense. She winced, reaching up to rub her temples gently.

 

“Are you alright, Sansa?” Her brother questioned, glancing at her with worried blue eyes.

 

“Just a slight headache” She replied as she reached forward to ruffle his soft curls, “Continue, I want to hear more about these mermen,” She told him, faking a smile. Rickon was young, and he let it go, smiling happily at her desire to hear his story. He nodded quickly. 

 

“Okay” Rickon continued, his soft voice soothing for a few moments. She thought the headache was done, a false alarm. No such luck. The pain flared up even sharper, and this time, heat came with it. It was a burning sensation that left her breathless and clutching at her head. It was worse then the flames that had engulfed her in the past. She felt as if she was burning from the inside out. She wondered if it was a side effect of the magic. She had yet to feel anything like the effects Jon had once described. She could not focus on thinking though. The pain was too great. 

 

“Sansa!” Rickon reached out, shaking her shoulder. Everything sounded like it was coming from under the water now. She could hear Rickon shouting and Lady barking, but it was fading fast. The last thing she remembered is Lady whimpering before darkness fell once again.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

_She thought she was used to pain. She had felt the pain of losing her entire family, felt the pain of being beaten and nearly raped in the capital, being actually assaulted and taken advantage of in the Vale. She never thought something would hurt so much as she was hurting now._

 

_The arrow stuck out of her shoulder at an unnatural angle. Bright red blood seeped from the wound, staining her grey tunic. She hadn’t even felt it as it went through. She stared at the foreign object in confusion and shock._

 

_She had been shot with an arrow._

 

_“Oh” The pain came then, and her legs buckled beneath her. She fell heavily to the ground, her knees smacking against the hardened ground. It was frozen solid. The pain was nothing compared to her shoulder though._

 

_“Sansa!” Jon shouted, racing towards her. He had to dodge a few arrows himself, along with an enemy soldier. She watched through heavy eyes as he ran towards her, his face etched with worry, “Sansa!” He shouted again as she felt herself falling forward into the snow as her vision blurred completely._

_——————————————————————-_

She woke up feeling stiff and heavy, like she had been lying somewhere for a very long time. Her limbs ached from disuse and her teeth feel slimy. She blinked open her heavy lids, wincing as the light hit them. It was dim, but it hurt.

 

“Sansa?” Her mother’s voice reached her first, “Sansa, can you hear me?”

 

“Yes” She coughed. Her throat was parched, “Water” She croaked. Her mother stood and knelt near her head. She could smell the familiar lavender and rose oils her mother wore. They were still on the ship from the look of things. She tilted a goblet of water into her mouth. It felt heavenly against her dry throat and cotton tongue, “Thank you”

 

“How do you feel?” Her mother questioned.

 

“Cramped” She told her, stretching her limbs out on the narrow bed, “How long have I been lying here?”

 

“Six days” Her mother replied, “Nearly the entirety of the journey. We were going to stop but the weather has been bad. We haven’t had an opportunity to dock anywhere”

 

“No, don’t” She whispered, “Arya’s wedding”

 

“We will arrive in the Stormlands tomorrow if the weather holds. A raven has already been sent to the Maester there. It does not seem contagious as no one else has had it”

 

‘I feel fine now” She told her, turning her stiff neck to look at her mother, “I just feel as if I overslept” She admitted.

 

“You were delirious for days, Sansa, calling out names I’ve never heard and things that belong in a song,” Her mother told her, shaking her head, “Lady hasn’t left your side all week” She reached down to feel the direwolves furry head. She smiled slightly.

 

“Thank you, mother” She told her, “But I think I am well enough to be left alone. You look exhausted. You should rest before you fall ill as well. Lady will protect me”

 

It took a few more minutes of cajoling to convince her mother to leave her alone, but eventually she left. As soon as she was gone, she crumpled, sobs erupting from her chest. She had dreamt of Jon in her fevered state. It came back to her now. Her body had been on fire, like the Red Woman’s flames were still licking at her body. She remembered the pain of the fire burning her skin, the agony of her flesh melting away. It was horrid.

 

Her hands went to the spot on her collarbone where she had been shot with an arrow in her past life. It was as smooth as the rest of her skin, not a trace of her scar. That had been the first night Jon had kissed her. He had done it to distract her while he pulled the arrow out. She had barely felt the pain. 

 

Lady pressed her snout against her cheek, nuzzling her face. She wrapped her arms around the wolf and breathed deeply, trying to calm herself. She brought his leather bracelet to her lips and kissed it softly.

 

“I will find you,” She whispered to herself, inhaling the faint traces of pine and snow that clung to the bracelet. Traces of ash and death clung as well, but she ignored those two.Jon was not dead in this realm. She would find him. She whispered the words to herself as she fell back asleep. She was still weak from the fever. Sleep came easily, and this time, she dreamt of snow.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arya's future husband is in the next chapter! Promise!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya's betrothed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love reading your kind reviews! Keep them coming :)

** Chapter 6 **

** The Stormlands **

** Storm's End **

** LadySansa Stark **

 

When she awoke again, it was to Arya telling her to get up none to gently. Her sister grudgingly helped her stand on shaky legs, and passed her a bucket and a rag to clean herself with. She was grimy and the rag only did so much, but it would have to do. Her face and hands were clean at least. In truth, she could not wait to bathe. She felt disgusting.

 

They were both forced into gowns this time, helping each other do the laces and ties before plaiting each other’s hair. Arya struggled with the simple plaits so she eventually told her to just leave it down, that she would do it herself. With a heavy sigh, Arya complied and then allowed her to do her hair. Her fingers shook as she braided the dark strands, but she made sure it was perfect. Arya had to look perfect to meet whomever she was marrying, Baratheon or not. Arya complained loudly as she pinned the pearls from Wylla into her braid.

 

‘You are seeing your betrothed, you must look beautiful” She told her in explanation when the girl protested such girly things, “Stop fidgeting, Arya” She told her, stilling her shoulders.

 

“You should worry more about how you look, Sansa. You look like hell,” Arya told her bluntly. She appreciated the honesty for she knew she did indeed look like hell. She felt a bit like hell as well, “Are you sure you feel well enough?”

 

“I’ll be well enough as soon as we’re off this accursed ship” She told her. She had decided to blame her sickness on the ship. Many people had weak stomachs and minds when they went to sea. She would claim that as her excuse. Arya reached up and felt her forehead. Her hand was ice cold against her still burning skin.

 

“You’re so hot, it burns” Arya told her as she pulled her hand away, “Like a dragon, sister,”

 

“I’m a wolf, not a dragon,” She bit back. She loved a dragon, but even he was only half a dragon. They would always be wolves though. Jon always asserted that he was a wolf over a dragon, “Beside’s, dragons are not-”

 

Their mother interrupted her sentence, telling them that they had better get a move on or that they would be late. She cursed her mother’s timing as Arya gathered up her skirts, heading towards the door.

 

“I hate having to wear a gown, they are not practical at all,” Arya muttered as they left their chambers and walked up the stairs to the main deck. Lady stayed close to her side, so close that she could feel her fur at the tips of her fingers every step they took. Nymeria stayed equally close to Arya. The two wolves were clearly over being confined to a ship. They could probably sense the land.

 

“You look beautiful though,” She told her sister. Arya’s gown was light grey with darker grey details. It was a northern style, but stunning on her sister’s small frame. Her own gown was navy blue and grey. It was beautiful but it was more of a southern style. 

 

They emerged onto the deck where everyone was waiting to leave the vessel. 

 

“How do you feel now, Sansa?” Her father questioned as they approached. His grey eyes showed worry, which was better then the apprehensive she expected. She had thought that perhaps they would think she was faking it all. 

 

“Just a bit of seasickness” She told him lightly, “It will pass now that we’ve finally docked” She smiled, hiding her fears of what they were about to encounter and who Arya was going to marry. It could be anyone, really. She prayed that it wasn’t Joffrey, and that Cersei had never married Robert Baratheon. But if Cersei hadn’t married Robert, he could have married her aunt, Lyanna. And if her aunt was a Baratheon then Jon was not in this realm for sure. 

 

She prayed for a miracle, in short.

 

“She’s burning,” Arya piped up, distracting her from her morbid thoughts. She had to stay positive. She had to believe that Jon was alive and well in this realm. Her father reached out and touched her forehead gently, pulling his hand away as quickly as Arya had.

 

‘You are burning, Sansa,” He murmured, “We will have a maester see you straight away,”

 

“I feel fine, father,” She told him, shaking her head, letting her reddish brown curls scatter over her shoulders due to the lack of pins, “Honestly, there is no need for a maester,”

 

“Regardless, one will be called for,” He told her seriously. He was different then she remembered. She had not done him proud in this realm, just as she failed to do so in the past realm. She had never changed in this world. She had continued to live with her head in the clouds, wishing for the southern lifestyle of perceived opulence and wealth. She had never been forced to grow up, never faced the horrors of the true southern lifestyle. She had no doubt that she was a vapid little thing, and she knew that her mother encouraged it. She had realized it last night while she dreamt of Jon. 

So along with the myriad of other things she had to figure out in this realm, she had to make her father proud, first and foremost. Rickon and Robb were secure for now, and Bran was never an issue. She had no idea what Arya thought of her now, but at least she hadn’t been called stupid again. Her mother seemed to like her original self, telling her how she belonged in the South. She wasn’t so sure she agreed.

 

“Regardless, let us go and greet our gracious hosts” Her father continued. She nodded absently, still thinking of how to sway his thought of her. 

 

“ Your father hasn’t seen Robert in nearly a full year. He is more excited then Arya, I daresay” Her mother jested. Her father shook his head at her, smiling. He offered her his arm to disembark. Robb offered her his arm since they were the next two eldest.

 

“Arya, go with Robb” She told her. Arya deserved to be ahead of her, it was her wedding after all, “I would be honored if these two little knights would escort me” She told Rickon and Bran.

 

“My lady” Bran bowed low. She took his elbow since he was nearly as tall as she but gripped Rickon’s smaller hand in her own. The wolves trailed behind their masters, excited to be off of the boat at long last. 

 

There was a Baratheon party awaiting their arrival on the docks. The banners of House Baratheon flew in the wind while the members of the family sat atop their horses. She recognized Robert Baratheon after a second. He was smaller then he had been, less red in the face. She scanned the crowd for any heads of blonde hair, but none were found. In fact, there were no females to speak of, save for the greyscale marked girl she knew to be Shireen Baratheon. She let out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding.

 

“Ned, my friend!” Robert let out a boisterous laugh, dismounting and surging forward to clap her father on the back in a male version of a hug. He hugged her mother next, who allowed it stiffly. He then turned to Robb and Arya.

 

“My namesake, you look broader. Have you been practicing with that hammer like I showed you?” He questioned as he thumped Robb on the back, causing her brother to stumble an inch. She watched Stannis’s face pinch at that. Renly looked uncomfortable as well.

 

“Every day” Robb told him with a smile, “Father despairs that I’m going to renounce my title to be tourney knight”

 

“Ah, the good old days” Robert recalled, “And my almost good daughter, you look positively beautiful,”

 

“Thank you, Lord Robert” Arya curtsied clumsily.

 

“Of course you remember Sansa, Bran, and Rickon,” Her father told him.

 

“Of course, I do” Robert scoffed, “You may have many children, but not so many that I could confuse their names. Welcome to Storm’s End!” He gestured to the castle behind him. It was beautiful and dangerous looking, seated at the edge of the cliff. The docks themselves were dangerous looking. The water was so rough and the rocks were so jagged. She knew that was how the previous Lord and Lady of Storm’s End had perished, long ago. 

 

“It is a beautiful place, Lord Robert,” She told him sincerely.

 

“As polite as your mother, I see” Robert commented, “Gendry, boy, come greet your bride and her family properly” Robert hollered. He hadn’t changed that much, she supposed. The man that she had thought was Renly stepped forward. Up close, she could tell that it was indeed not Renly. This man was broader, thicker.He was strong and handsome. She saw no one else on the dock save Stannis and Shireen for Baratheon’s, so Gendry must have been Robert’s only heir. No wonder her previous self had been jealous.

 

“Milady” Gendry bowed low, smirking at her sister. From the way he spoke, it seemed to be an inside joke of some sort.

 

“Gendry” Arya greeted back, nodding her head. Gendry greeted the rest of her family politely, if not a bit awkwardly. He was not as easily charming as Renly or Robert were. When that was done and the rest of the Baratheon’s were greeted, they adjourned back to the castle for some much needed refreshment. She ended up riding next to Lady Shireen.

 

“That is a beautiful gown, Lady Shireen,” She told the young girl after a few minutes of silent riding.

 

“Thank you, Lady Sansa” Shireen murmured but made no attempt to continue their small talk. She was dreadfully bored though and she wanted to make a nice impression to fix any bad one she had previously made.

 

“Did you embroider it yourself?” She questioned.

 

“Yes” Shireen answered. She sighed quietly and turned her attention to the horse she was riding. Jonquil had been left in White Harbor with the rest of their steeds, but this one seemed gentle enough. She was white with patches of grey. She smoothed her hand over her mane as they went, absentmindedly plaiting it.

 

They rode into the courtyard of the castle and were then led inside by the steward, whose name she couldn’t recall. A few maids were tasked with showing them to their chambers while her father ran off with Robert to speak on something urgent. 

 

The chambers were beautiful. They had a window and a balcony that faced the sea. The salty air felt good against her hot skin. The fever, despite her telling her family otherwise, was indeed painful. She felt as if her skin was burning and melting off. She chalked it up to residual magic though. Jon had told her about the emptiness the residual magic had caused him. With him being betrayed by his brothers, she thought it apt. Their betrayal had left him alone, feeling empty. She had been burned alive and brought to an alternative realm. Perhaps she was destined to feel the fire until she found a balm. She hoped Jon would be that balm.

 

“Sansa?” Her mother knocked heavily on the door, “Are you there?”

 

“Come in” She called her. Her mother breezed through the door with an older man at her heels. He wore a maester’s chain.

 

“This is Maester Cressen,” The man had to be nearing 80 years. He had long white hair though his beard was short. He reminded her of Pycelle.

 

“Maester” She curtsied.

 

‘Lady Sansa” He replied with a stiff bow, “Lady Stark tells me that you’ve been wrought with fever for the last sennight”

 

“She speaks true,” She answered. The Maester stepped forward with his outstretched, looking for her for permission. She nodded and his cold, wrinkled hand met her forehead.

 

“A fever indeed” He murmured in surprise, “Any other symptoms, my lady?”

 

“A headache that comes and goes” She told him, “Other then that and the fact that my skin burns a bit warmer, I can complain of nothing” She lied easily.

 

“You are pale, extremely so, but I shall attribute that to the North” He commented, “And your appetite?”

 

“Nonexistent” Her mother replied for her, “She wouldn’t even hear of trying a taste of broth or honeyed water”

 

“That was the seasickness” She told the maester with a small smile, “I feel truly well, maester. I don’t think I’ve ever been to such warm climates though. Perhaps my fever could be attributed to that”

 

“Mayhap” He answered, “I would like to run a few tests though” He told her, pulling out his kit, “If that is agreeable,” 

 

“Of course it is” Her mother answered for her, “I shall take my leave. Sansa, love, rest after this. A maid will be around later to get you ready for the welcome feast. We don’t need you over taxed this week”

 

“Of course not, mother” She replied, “I shall see you later”

 

With her mother gone, the maester drew blood, pricking the soft skin of her arm. Dark red blood trickled out, staining his slides.She looked away.

 

“Ah,there is nothing to fear from blood, my lady” He told her, no doubt thinking that she was squeamish. The blood reminded her of Jon though and she found herself flashing back to his own blood seeping into the snow, melting it, staining her hands, “Are you faint, Lady Sansa?”

 

“I am fine” She replied, looking down at her still bleeding arm, “I do not fear blood, Maester Cressen,”

 

“Of course, Lady Sansa” The maester hummed. He wrapped her now cut arm, and moved on to her mouth, asking her to open wide. After inspecting that, he asked about her monthly courses, and any recent injuries. She replied negative to all of them.

 

“Tis most likely a passing thing, my lady” He told her, “But I shall have the kitchen brew some tea with yarrow and elderberry for you. It should alleviate the fever,”

 

“Thank you, Maester Cressen” She told him before bidding him farewell. He left quickly and she turned to the featherbed before her. Once again she felt tired, overwhelmingly so. She kicked out of her slippers and unlaced her gown by herself, letting it pool to the ground. She climbed into the warm bed with just her shift on.

 

It took only moments before the familiar heaviness of sleep overtook her.

 

An unfamiliar maid woke her up a few hours later to bathe. The cool water felt heavenly against her warm skin.She wondered if she would always burn this hot, just as Jon had after he died in the flames. 

 

Once she was dried off and covered with lavender oils, the maid helped her into a clean shift. A gown was pulled from her wardrobe, a beautiful charcoal grey with Myrish lace and intricate detailing she recognized as her own.

 

“You look beautiful, Lady Sansa” Her maid told her as she brushed out her auburn curls. Her hair was longer and thicker in this realm, it hadn’t been burnt or dyed, “How would you like your hair?”

 

“Just braid it across the top, leave the rest down” She told her simply. She didn’t need an elaborate hairstyle. The maid did as she asked, plaiting a coronet across her scalp. She looked at herself in the mirror, brushing a strand out of her face.

 

“Thank you” She told the maid, “That is all, I believe”

 

“Of course, Lady Sansa” The maid bowed and scurried off, leaving her alone in her chambers. A few moments later another knock sounded on her door. Robb was there this time, dressed in similar colors to her.

 

“Gendry’s escorting Arya” Robb told her as he offered her his elbow, “You look better then you did when we first arrived,” He told her.

 

“I feel fine,” She told him as they walked through the corridors of the unknown castle. Robb seemed to know him around them. She supposed they had probably visited before. He felt her forehead as the rest of her family had done that day, wincing at the heat.

 

‘You’re burning still,” He told her.

 

‘And yet I feel fine,” She smiled widely, “Truly, Robb, tis just a passing thing,”

 

He let it go. They reached the Great Hall at the same time that Rickon and Bran did. The guards announced them and they took their spot at the high table. She noted that Renly, Stannis, his wife, and Shireen, were already seated at the high table. The lower tables were filled will lesser Stormland houses, their banners flying at the ends of each long table. A few minutes after they sat, her father and mother were announced, then Robert. 

 

Robert raised his wine glass and addressed the hall.

 

“We feast tonight in celebration of the joining of two houses, and with it, two great regions of Westeros. We feast to our great district and to our new family, the North. To Lady Arya Stark and Lord Gendry Baratheon!” Robert spoke loudly, enticing the entire hall. By the time his last proclamation hit, everyone cheered.

 

Her sister and her betrothed walked in then arm and arm. They were both beaming, albeit awkwardly. Gendry’s ears tinged pink and Arya held a bit too tightly to his arm, but they smiled.

 

Everyone stood and raised their glasses to them, the entire upper table included. When the couple reached their places of honor, they sat and toasted back before everyone took a long gulp of their wine and sat as well. 

 

They were treated to a 9-course meal. She ate only a few bites of each. She wasn’t really that hungry and the fish reminded her too much of the sea and her illness. When the main courses were finished, the music started and then the dancing. Arya and Gendry broke off first, sweeping across the hall before the others joined in.

 

Robb claimed her first, and then Bran, and then she claimed Rickon. She danced with her father and Lord Robert, and even a set with Lord Renly. She was surprised to learn that he was unmarried still.  Eventually she ended up in the stiff arms of her future good brother. Up close, he was more handsome then Renly, gruffer and more chiseled. His eyes were the typical Baratheon blue. He reminded her a bit of Jon with his solemn expression and awkward foot work. He was nothing like Joffrey. Robert had raised a perfectly well mannered son in this realm. She wondered who his mother had been. 

 

“Lord Gendry” She began after a few seconds of awkward silence, “I know that I have not been kind to you in the past,”

 

“You have treated me fine, Lady Sansa” The man remarked before she could continue. She could tell his words were false though. They were much too forced and insincere. Gendry was a horrid liar it seemed. Her sibling and her betrothed were polar opposites it appeared. She could tell that they would compliment each other though. She was happy for them, truly. 

 

“I was not kind. I am trying to change and to atone for my past. I do not deserve it, I am sure, but I ask that you give me a second chance. Arya is my only sister after all. I do not wish to lose her”

 

“I admit that when your sister told me that you were acting strange I did not believe her. But you are true to your words, I can tell. You were always an awful liar,” It was ironic that she was probably the best liar out of them now. 

 

“ Does that mean that you will grant me an opportunity for forgiveness?”

 

“If Arya is willing to forgive you, then so am I”

 

“Bending to your lady wife before the vows, you learn quickly, Lord Gendry” She teased as the song started to wind down, “Be kind to my sister or you will have to answer to my wolf and I”

 

“I will add you and your wolf to the ever growing list of Stark’s and wolves that have threatened me” Gendry promised, “I can honestly say now that it was a pleasure to dance with you, the first of many, I would hope”

 

“I hope so too” She replied, curtsying as left his side. She passed Arya, who quirked her brow, but she continued on towards the bench. She felt hot. She needed a cool drink or something to cool off.

 

Rickon was dozing at the table with Bran sitting beside him looking bored. She sat next to her brother, patting his cheek.

 

“If we are going to spend the next few days feasting like this, I will become quite fat,” Bran told her, “Rickon will need a horse instead of a pony based on all of the blueberry tarts he consumed”

 

“It is not everyday that you get to celebrate with family like this, Bran. Enjoy it” She told him as she ran her hands through Rickon’s thick curls. He moved into her hand in his sleep, finding her motions comforting, “And I doubt we will feast every night. The next feast will be the wedding feast” 

 

“Are you sure the fever didn’t addle your brain, Sansa?” Bran questioned, “The rest of the realm is due to arrive in the next two days, and then the miniature tourney, and then the wedding. We will feast ourselves to death,”

 

“I’m just tired, little wolf,” She told him, faking a yawn and stretching her arms widely, “What day is the royal family set to arrive?” She questioned, her heart beating a bit faster. She had finally gotten a chance to bring Jon into the conversation, hopefully. 

 

“I believe on the morrow, with the other families arriving the next day,” Bran told her with a shrug, “But I forget what father said,”

 

“There you are!” Her mother interrupted their conversation and she cursed her bad timing. She could have found out more, or could have at least tried, perhaps mentioning the princes or their Aunt Lyanna, “I think it is time for bed for the little lords” Her mother cooed, smoothing Rickon's messy curls. Her brother's hair was untamable. 

 

“I’ll take them” She volunteered, hoping to continue her conversation with Bran about the royals, “My head is starting ache, I will retire as well”

 

“You just need some rest, dear,” Her mother told her softly, “And to drink that tea. I shall see you on the morrow at breakfast. The royal family is due to arrive around midday. We’ll need to prepare for that”

 

“Of course, mother” She replied. Her mother kissed all of their cheeks before they left for their chambers. Rickon chatted about dancing drowsily as they walked, ruining her plan of questioning Bran. They were all in the family wing, so they were easy to find. Rickon and Bran were sharing a chamber. She tucked them both in and kissed their foreheads, wishing them pleasant dreams. Bran protested because he was too old, but Rickon was too sleepily to protest.   She went to her own chambers then, and despite having just slept a few hours ago, she felt herself drifting away. She prayed for her own pleasant dreams as she closed her eyes to the world.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update Wed/Thurs


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thank you all for the kind reviews yet again. I love hearing what you guys are thinking about it. The general gist of the comments is how Sansa ended up like she was in the new realm. Would you be interested in flash backs of her previous self in this new realm? Perhaps a little magic? Let me know what you think! I have little bits thrown in here and there, but it's difficult since this story is told in her POV and no one else's. I'd be happy to throw in some dreams of her past life if you want me to.
> 
> Enjoy this new chapter!

** Chapter 7 **

** Storm's End  **

** The Stormlands **

** Sansa Stark **

 

She woke up to her maid pulling her from the bed, and berating her on not calling her to plait her hair. It was in a tangle this morning thanks to her. She calmed the maid though and told her not to fret. She brushed it out slowly, detangling each strand, before plaiting it to the side in a single braid. It was very Northern and simple. The maid made a face showing her disapproval. 

 

“Are you sure that is how you wish to meet the royal family?” The maid questioned curiously as she helped her into her corset. It did not make her angry like the maid in the North had made her. This maid was young, probably a year her junior, perhaps even the same age. She had wide brown eyes and thick brown hair. She was not beautiful but there was something cute about her, innocent and happy. Her question was merely curious. There was no judgement behind it. 

 

“Yes, it’s fine” She told her. Simple was better. She didn’t want to be a southern court lady today. She wanted to be a fierce northern one, "And the grey gown, please, with the snowflakes," She told her as the girl made to take a maroon gown from the wardrobe. The maroon was had gold trimming and was far to Lannister like for her to ever wear. Perhaps she would gift it to the maid at the end of their stay. She certainly would never wear it again in this realm. The grey gown had a Northern cut to it, and snowflakes embroidered around the hems and neckline. There were little pearls placed strategically, giving it a bit of sparkle, though it was still quite plain. It would show off her trim waist, ample bust, and cream skin, and the braid showed her long neck and her strong jaw. 

 

"As you wish," The maid replied and tied her into the gown. It was a bit too warm for the South, but she would be comfortable enough. She dabbed a bit of rose oil on her wrists and neck before fluffing her hair one last time. The maid deemed her beautiful, and told her that the rest of the household was breaking their fast.  She walked alone to the Great Hall, nodding at a few Northern guards as she went. There were only two people in the Great Hall.  Apparently Rickon was still bathing and Bran had already finished. It was just her mother, Arya, and she. Robb, Gendry, and her father were with Lord Robert in his solar, breaking their own fasts. Arya was quite put out at the male only breakfast.

 

“Both my girls” Her mother smiled as she entered the huge hall, “Come, eat, Sansa. Are you still fevered?” Her mother felt her forehead, which was burning still. The headache had faded to a dull throb, but the fever persisted as if she had molten lava under her skin. 

 

“I feel fine though” She assured her, picking up some fruit and taking a big bite. It tasted sweet against her tongue and the juices were heavenly as they dribbled down her chin. She hadn’t had Dornish oranges in years, not since she was a prisoner in the capital. Even then, Joffrey would tease her by giving her a piece and then tossing the rest to the ground. It had been utterly demeaning. 

 

“I swear you two have switched personalities in the past sennight” Her mother told them as Arya ate like a perfect lady. She even dabbed her mouth daintily with a handkerchief that was embroidered with little blue and purple flowers. It was not Arya's needle work though. She recognized her mother's neat stitches. 

 

“My apologies” She murmured, wiping her chin with her own kerchief. Her past self had embroidered dozens of blue winter roses along the fabric. It was beautifully done and must have taken her days to complete so many intricate roses. She felt momentarily guilty as she saw the smear of reddish orange juice on it, but it passed. It was just thread. She speared another piece and did it all again.

 

After breaking their fasts, they adjourned to her mother's solar. Her mother wanted to add a few more things to the maiden cloak. So they pulled out Arya’s  cloak to sew a few more pearls on to. They had been a gift for Arya’s marriage from the Manderely's. They were a perfect match to the pins they had gifted her, though more elaborate. Arya did not do much sewing, but she tried. Her mother didn’t even notice her stitching at the bottom. She kept her eye on the sun through the window. It was a few hours from midday, when she knew the royal family was arriving. Her stomach was knotting itself together in worry and excitement. A few more hours, and she would see for herself who the royals were. 

 

They had just finished the last of the pearls when a horn sounded. Arya sprang to her feet, racing to the windows. She turned back to them after a second, a wide, excited grin on her face.

 

“Dragons!” She exclaimed, dashing from the room, “They’re early,”

 

“Arya, do not run!” Her mother yelled, but it was drown out as she too ran from the room, following Arya’s path, “Sansa!” She heard mother exclaim as she turned a corner. Her heart was beating too loudly though. She could barely hear her mother's shrill scream over it.  They raced through the different hallways, going down several flights of stairs, before reaching the main entrance hall. She beat Arya by a fraction of an inch, skidding across the polished floor to the surprise of those that were already there. Gendry raised his brow, but then Arya rushed past her, crashing into the Baratheon heir with a wide grin on her face. Gendry smiled down at her sister, taking her hand politely. The rest of the Baratheon and Stark’s were meandering down the staircases as well.

 

“Sansa” Their mother had caught up as she stood with the rest of the household, waiting to leave the gates, “That was completely unladylike on both of you parts” She added loud enough for Arya to hear. She was whispering with Gendry now.

 

“I’m sorry, mother” They both echoed.

 

“Arya, separate an inch, and Sansa find your elder brother to chaperone them with. And for the love of god, Arya, try to remain in line,”

 

“No promises” Arya muttered under her breath as she left again. She followed, managing to spot Robb in the crowd. She grabbed his hand and pulled him after Arya, who was making her ways towards the front of the line to get the best view possible. She was jumping on the balls of her feet, clearly excited. It gave her hope to see Arya as such. She had loved Jon greatly in the past world. She would have been this excited to see him. That had to be it, didn't it? She took it as a sign of hope and said a quick prayer to the Gods who had never had much of a liking for her.

 

“She gets like this every time the dragons are spotted in the distance,” Robb whispered to her  as they waited in the Hall. She could hear screeching outside, presumably the dragons. The only one she had ever met was the last of the dragons, Drogon. He was dying when she saw him, a shell of his former self according to Daenerys Targaryen. He was a pitiful little thing for a dragon. He had staggered under the weight of Daenerys, who was not a big woman. 

 

“They have dismounted, my lord!” A guard called down to Lord Robert.

 

“Open the doors” Robert commanded, signaling the other men.

 

The strong iron oak doors were pulled open slowly, letting the light shine in in strange beams. She was blinded by the sun. When the great doors were open all of the way, she blinked away the dots, focusing on the figures before her. There were only two. A male and a female, a King and a Queen. They looked as different as night and day, as the sun and the moon. She knew who they were before anyone spoke, before any greeting or announcements were made on their behalf.

 

She could only stare at the royal pair as the air in her chest left and her heart stopped beating. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hate me! Next Update Saturday/Sunday :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early update because you are all awesome. Enjoy!

“King Rhaegar and Queen Lyanna, welcome and be welcomed” Lord Robert proclaimed, stepping forward with her father.

“Cousin Robert” The King greeted in a friendly tone. He was taller then average, willowy even. He was long and lean, she supposed. His silver blonde hair was tied at the nape of his neck, a thin gold circlet around his head. He was handsome, in a way. She preferred a more northern look to her men though she she could see a bit of Jon in his father's face. King Robert embraced him strongly, just as he had with her own father yesterday.

It was strange since he had killed his cousin in her previous world. She was not expecting them to get along so well. 

“And your Queen” Robert pulled away, looking to Lyanna Stark, “Lovely as ever, your Grace”

“Robert, charming as ever” Her Aunt quipped, a smile on her face, “You have not changed one bit, save for that expanding waist line” She looked eerily similar to Arya, or Arya looked like her. She had sharp features, a near perfect likeness to the stone one she had grown accustomed to seeing in Winterfell. Her grey eyes sparkled as she spoke with Robert. She was beautiful, though in an unconventional way. It was a fierce beauty, strong.

“You slay me, my Queen” Robert laughed, “Come, greet your family. I know you have more desire to see them then continue bantering with me,” They seemed to be good friends. Robert didn’t seem bitter at all. She wished to know that back story.

“Ned!” The Queen exclaimed, stepping closer and embracing her father. He hugged back just as tightly. She could the resemblance between them. She embraced her mother as well, though it appeared stiff. 

“And where is the bride to be?” She questioned, looking around at them. She didn’t last long on anyone until she settled her gaze on Arya. Her smile got wider, “Look at you, my darling. Come, greet your Aunt” Arya stepped forward and hugged her Aunt tightly. 

“Aunt Lya” Arya murmured against her, her voice muffled by their aunt’s tight embrace.

“Oh, I’ve missed you so much, little wolf” Her Aunt told her sister as she held her at arms length, looking her over, “You’ve grown so much since I last saw you,”

“You haven’t visited in ages,” Arya replied somewhat bitterly, “But now that I will be in the Stormlands instead of the North, I hope to see you more”

“As do I, Arya” Her Aunt was clearly quite fond of Arya, “It is not too late to marry one of your cousins though,” She nudged Arya, winking at her. Her heart sped up at statement for many reasons. One, it meant that they had cousins on that side, which meant it could be Jon, and two, it was how the previous rebellion began, a Stark girl being stolen from a Baratheon boy by a Targaryen prince. 

“Ah, Lya, you’ll have to give it up. The Baratheon boy has won the hand of a Stark, at long last” Robert spoke, chuckling.

“Ah, I suppose you will just have to set your sights on someone else, darling” The King spoke to her Aunt, shaking his head ruefully,

“No one else is good enough for my little boy,” Her Aunt told them all, causing a hitch in her breathing. The Queen spoke as if her son was young, younger then Jon would be. Perhaps they had a second son, more children since they were together now, she reasoned.

“I think he would rather marry his sword then marry a lady, in truth” The King laughed, patting his wife’s shoulder. That did sound like Jon, she thought, “Speaking of boys and marriage, where is the young groom, Gendry?”

“Here, your Grace” Gendry stepped forward, “It’s an honor to see you again, King Rhaegar”

“It is an honor to be here, I assure you” The King replied, “And the rest of the Stark broad. Let us be glad we have less children to marry off then your brother, my dear”

“Five children, we should have been so lucky” Lyanna told her, “Step forward, Robb. I wish to see you better”  
 “Your Grace” Robb bowed, kissing his Aunt’s hand, “You look radiant”

“You certainly inherited your Uncle’s charm, lucky for you,” Her Aunt told him, “And how many times must I tell you, Robb, it’s Aunt Lyanna,”

“Yes, Aunt Lyanna” Robb echoed, “King Rhaegar, it’s a pleasure to see you again, your Grace”

“You as well, Lord Robb” King Rhaegar replied, “And since I hear you are still unmarried, this can only be your sister, Lady Sansa”

“Your Graces” She murmured, curtsying.

“You are the spitting image of your mother,” Her Aunt told her, “A perfect little southern doll,” The words were sickly sweet. Her Aunt wasn’t trying to hide her distain. It reminded her of Cersei Lannister and it made her blood boil. She took a deep breath and plastered a calm smile on her face.

“Thank you, your Grace” She replied with a demure tone. She bit her tongue before she could say anything else. She didn’t want to insult the Queen this early on, “You remember Bran, of course” She put her hand on Bran’s shoulder, pushing him forward an inch.

Her Aunt and King greeted Rickon and Bran next, praising them. Like she had told Robb, the others were instructed to call her Aunt Lyanna. She hadn’t corrected her though.

Once everyone was greeted, her father spoke again.

“And where are the children, Lya?” He asked, looking outside the grand doors.

‘They shall arrive in a few moments” She answered, “They stopped by Griffin’s Roost to see Lord Connington’s family,”

“And the rest of your household? The King’s guard?” 

“They will arrive soon as well and some on the morrow. Do you anticipate an assignation attempt, brother?” Lyanna teased.

“Of course not,” Her father shook his head, “But I have not seen our brother in quite some time,” Ah, Brandon. He was alive it appeared.

“Your Graces, more dragons have appeared on the horizon” A guard told them, interrupting her father’s last words.

“Ah, see, there they are” Her Aunt exclaimed, “Come, we will meet them outside” Robb offered her his arm again, which she took gratefully. Her headache was steadily returning. She rubbed her temple gently, trying to get rid of the ache. She needed to be in her right mind now. 

“Are you alright?” Robb questioned as they trailed behind everyone.

“I’m fine” She bit out between her teeth, a flash of pain seared across her forehead. It felt as if she had been burnt, “Oh, look at them all” There were more then three dragons flying above them. Clearly more had been hatched. There were five from what she could count.

“You act as if you’ve never seen a dragon before” Robb told her, looking to the sky as well. Everyone had their heads tilted up, watching the five colorful blurs circle above them.

King Rhaegar whistled and one of the dragons came spiraling towards the ground. She gasped, but everyone else seemed accustomed to it.

“You always do that even when you know it’s coming” Robb laughed at her, “It’s just a prank King Rhaegar does, Sansa. They aren’t actually falling”

“I know that” She replied breathlessly as the rider dismounted the gold colored dragon. It was a male based on the shape and muscles. He patted the dragon’s head, and the large creature took off with a screech.

“You remember our eldest son, Aegon?” King Rhaegar spoke as the man took off his leather helmet. Shaggy silver blonde hair fell out, framing a face that looked just like King Rhaegar. He was tanner though; he had the skin tone of his Dornish mother, no doubt.

“Uncle Robert” Prince Aegon greeted, shaking his hand. No one bowed to him, which meant that they had to be close. Her father didn’t even bow, he just nodded his head towards the prince. Prince Aegon greeted the rest of them while another dragon touched down. This one was a green color. She watched as a decidedly female figure dismounted the dragon.

Robb pinched her arm. She looked to him, only to realize that Prince Aegon had stopped before her, no doubt to greet her properly. He had a wide smile on his admittedly handsome face. Though Jon looked like a Stark, she could see a few similarities between the two. 

“My apologies, your Grace,” She told him demurely, “I am embarrassed to say that I was distracted by the dragons. They are quite magnificent, Prince Aegon,”

“No apologies needed, Lady Sansa” Prince Aegon replied smoothly, lifting her hand to kiss it, “It is a pleasure to see you again”

“The pleasure is mine, Prince Aegon” She replied. The prince gave her another smile and walked on, bending low to greet Rickon and Bran with handshakes and laughter. He was much more jovial then Joffrey had ever been.

“Princess Rhaenys looks well,” She whispered to Robb, hoping that her name hadn’t changed in this realm. From her dark hair and darker skin, she had to be the eldest child of Rhaegar and Elia.

“To bad she is to be married to a Dornish cousin” Robb whispered back.

“Lord Robb, Lady Sansa” The princess curtsied before them.

“Princess Rhaenys” She curtsied while Robb bowed at the waist. The princess smiled briefly at them before continuing down her path. 

Another dragon had landed; this time is was a black one. She had a feeling she knew who it was before the rider even dismounted.

Daenerys Targaryen looked just as she had in the past world. She was small but she had a powerful presence. Even with her family surrounding her, she out shined most of them, save for Rhaegar. She only hoped that in this world Jon’s aunt would not succumb to the madness as she had in the other.

“Lord Robb, Lady Sansa” She flitted over to them after greeting the adults, “It is wonderful to meet you. Your uncle has told me much about you” So they hadn’t met Princess Daenerys before but she had the feeling she had met Princess Rhaenys and Prince Aegon.

“It is an honor to finally meet you, Princess” Robb replied smoothly, “I hope your journey to the Eastern lands was enjoyable,”

“Enjoyable, yes, but more informative,” The princess replied with an easy smile, “They live so differently from us,”

“What lands did you travel to, princess?” She questioned, wanting to know if this world mirrored hers in some way. 

“Oh, I visited them all. Meereen, Lys, Braavos” The princess listed, “I wanted to visit Assai, but my brother called me back before I reached the red lands,”

“Did you encounter any Dothraki?” She questioned, unable to help herself.

“I did, yes” The princess gave her a strange look, but continued, “But my interaction with them was in Pentos,”

“I hear that Pentos is a beautiful city” She replied easily, catching the princesses discomfort. 

“It was, Lady Sansa. Perhaps you will see it someday” The princess replied, “If you would excuse me, I should greet the rest of your family”

“Of course, princess” Robb answered, cutting off whatever she was going to say. Once the princess was out of sight, Robb turned to her with his brow raised, “What was that, Sansa?”

“What was what?”

“You spooked her over something, Sansa. What do you know?”

“Nothing, I was just trying to be nice, ask about her trip. You know the Dothraki have been plaguing Essos for centuries. I was just curious to see if she had encountered them”

“I think your fever is muddling your brain” Robb told her, “And where in the seven hells did you even learn about the Dothraki? You hated history lessons with Luwin,” He accused. She ignored his question though, focusing on the dragons still above them.

“Why aren’t the other two dragons landing?” She questioned, looking up to where there were two lighter colored dragons. It was driving her mad not knowing who was up there, if he was up there.

“Because they are fighting on who gets to land first” Prince Aegon had joined them once again. He stood quite close to her, less then an arm’s length away. He smelt like leather and burnt wood, “Looks like Viserys won” Aegon commented as a dragon descended.

Viserys was the brother of Daenerys and Rhaegar. He had died of madness in the old world, killed by the Dothraki and a pot of gold, according to Jon. When he dismounted, she could tell he was darker then the rest of them. He was tall and gaunt, with long silvery hair and pale lilac eyes. He greeted everyone quickly, not bothering with pleasantries or manners. A clipped “Lord Robb, Lady Sansa” was all they got before he was moving on, ignoring even his brother.

She was thankful for his ignorance. Her headache was building again. It was a constant, slow burn this time. She couldn’t decide if the quick flashes of intense pain or the slow burning pain were better. 

“Are you okay, Lady Sansa?” Aegon had returned to their side. He was less then an arm’s length away. She had a feeling that he was a good friend of Robb’s. She had missed their greeting while she focused on the dragons though, so she didn’t know for sure. She wondered how they had become such good friends. Perhaps they visited the capital to see their aunt, or perhaps their aunt took the royal family North often. 

“She’s been ill since we left White Harbor” Robb replied, “Headaches and a fever, but she refuses to stay abed”

“The maester declared me fit” She replied.

“Strange, little Jaemon took ill on the journey as well, headache and chills” Aegon told them as the last of the dragons landed.

“I am surprised that Aunt Lyanna let him travel then,” Robb remarked with a smirk, “She babies him”

“Jaemon is her only true born son,” Aegon remarked, “And she says that she doesn’t play favorites” He shook his head but she wasn’t interested in whatever else he was saying.

Her Aunt Lyanna had only one son in this world, a young boy by the name of Jaemon, yet another Targaryen name. There was no Jon in this world. The pain in her head increased and she bit her lip in pain, squeezing her eyes shut. Her forehead was burning but her heart was breaking into even smaller pieces. She couldn’t breathe.

“Sansa” Robb looked down in alarm as she gripped his arm, “Sansa”

“I’m fine,” She whispered, blinking her eyes to dissipate the tears. She could cry later in her chambers, away from the rest of them. She didn’t want to appear weak in front of the Queen, Princess Rhaenys, or Prince Viserys. It wasn’t wise to do that.

The dragon Prince Jaemon rode was white as snow, just as Jon had described the dragon that took to him, Viserion. Prince Jaemon dismounted and wobbled. His legs seemed unsteady. Something was wrong with him; he was shaking and struggling to stand. The King and Queen both raced over to aid him, along with several guards. Things were getting hectic. People were calling for the maester and guards.

“Take his gloves off”

“Remove the helmet”

“Someone get Cressen!”

Her vision was blurring though, the pain was building again. She tried to focus on the Prince. There was something familiar about him, something drawing her eye. He was blocked by guards and his parents though. She could only see flashes of the prone prince.

He was on the ground now, convulsing. Shivering. 

Someone was calling her name, shaking her arm.

“Sansa! Sansa, can you hear me? Answer me, Sansa!”

Her eyes were drawn to the side of the chaos though. There was something white in her peripheral. She struggled to focus her vision on the blob. It was a white wolf, watching her with his furry head cocked to the side, red eyes staring into her soul.

“Ghost” She whispered just before she felt herself falling to the ground, darkness taking over once again.


	9. Chapter 9

**The Stormlands**

**Storm’s End**

**302 AC**

**Lady Sansa Stark**

 

**_She was in an unfamiliar Godswood. The trees were not those of the North, they were oaks and ash. There were no sentinels or ironwoods. The weirdwood in the center was not the one in Winterfell. It was smaller, and it lacked a proper face. There was no pool before it, and no stone for her father to sit upon, reflecting on life. She could hear the sound of waves in the background though, an ocean perhaps. Something was calling to her, drawing her in. The wind picked up, and she looked to the sky._ **

 

**_Red leaves fell from the heavens above, dotting the ground beneath her. She turned sharply to her left, sensing a new presence in the wood._ **

 

**_Red eyes stared at her from the shadow of the other trees. The wolf growled at her._ **

 

**_Ghost._ **

 

**_She growled back._ **

 

**__**

She awoke with a gasp, looking around wildly. She was confused beyond belief. She was in her chambers, not the Godswood. She could almost smell the wierwood trees though. The dream had been so real. Lady jumped up on her bed, surprising her.

 

“Good girl” She cooed, scratching her wolf behind the ears. Lady cuddled closer, like a lap dog. She felt something strange stuck in the wolf’s fur. She picked it out, revealing a red leaf, one from a wierwood tree.

 

"I warged," she realized, looking at the leaf. She had warged with Lady, just as Jon had been able to do with Ghost, as Bran had been able to do with Summer. She really was a warg. She focused on Lady, trying to slip into her skin the same way Jon used to slip into Ghost’s.  One second was watching the wolf, and the next she was looking at herself, her blue eyes clouded over and distant. The shock of it all sent her flying back into her own skin, breathless and amazed. Lady didn’t seem fazed. If anything, she cuddled closer, getting comfortable in the bed.

 

“We have to go to the Godswood, Lady,” She told her wolf, getting out of the bed. She had shaken herself out of the fog that had come over her while warging, realizing that she had more important things to be doing.  She had to find Ghost, had to see what his presence meant. She pulled her curtains back, revealing a new day. It was just past dawn by the look of the sun on the horizon, she must have slept the whole day yesterday. She felt fine now though, just a bit warm.

 

She pulled on her travel breeches and a tunic, grabbing her cloak as well. She knew she would have to go outside to reach the Godswood. It would be better if no one recognized her on her journey. She pulled her hair into a ponytail, and covered it with the hood of her cloak. She looked dreadful but she refused to spend any more time on her appearance when Ghost was somewhere out there.

 

“Come, Lady” She would rely on the wolf’s directions to get there since her memory of the place was wiped clean. She left the chambers, checking to make sure the corridor was empty. It was. The maids and servants would just be waking to get their breakfast ready.

 

She did not expect to find her sister and Gendry. But she found Arya and her future husband walking arm and arm down the west corridor though, quietly speaking, already dressed for their days. Arya wore an olive colored gown.

 

“Sansa” Arya stated in surprise, “What are you doing up and out here? You should be in your bed” Arya reprimanded her strongly, ‘You scared us all half to death yesterday,”

 

“I’m sorry?” She questioned. 

 

“Did you speak with the Maester yet? Did he say you could be traipsing around the castle?” Arya sounded like their mother. It was vaguely amusing to hear her as such.

 

“No, I woke up and fancied a walk” She replied with a shrug, “ I feel fine though. My fever is nearly gone and my head does not ache at all,”

 

“Sansa, please, you should wait until the Maester speaks with you,”

 

“Whatever the maester has decided I have, he is wrong” She spoke over her sister, knowing that whatever illness she had was due to magic not disease, “Now, I seem to have forgotten where the Godswood is. Could you point me in the right direction?”

  
“Sansa, you forget things, your headaches, the maester needs to look at you. You should be resting”

 

“I will find it myself then” She told them, turning to walk away.

 

‘It’s this way” Gendry told her. She turned to look at him, he was pointing further down the corridor, “Keep going until you reach the end. Exit the main tower, and head towards  the water. It’s small but it has a few wierwood trees” Gendry told her.

 

“Gen-”

 

“Thank you, good brother” She told him with a small smile, leaving her sister and Gendry in the corridor. She followed his directions, exiting the main drum tower. She looked up in awe. They had entered the fortress beneath the castle when they arrived. It looked like a fist raised to the sky from here. She continued on her path, passing a few guards that nodded politely to her. 

 

She saw the Godswood ahead, a thick corpse of trees that looked out of place in the southern land. She found the entrance easily. It was overgrown a bit; clearly no one in the castle came here.

 

She followed the path towards the center, towards the Godswood tree. It was the one from her dream, missing face and all. Lady disappeared into the trees. She heard her playful barks a second later. 

“Ghost” She whispered, looking around for the red eyes. She spotted them in the trees, staring at her from a distance, paired with Lady’s golden ones “Ghost, Lady, to me” She called.

 

The two massive wolves emerged from the trees slowly. Lady came straight to her side, but Ghost hesitated, as if he couldn’t quite place her. When he was in reaching distance, she extended her hand, allowing him to sniff her wrist before she carded her hands into the thick fur. He leaned in to her touch, welcoming it. 

 

“Oh, Ghost” She whispered, pulling him even closer, “It’s you, isn’t it, boy?” She questioned, peering into his red eyes.

 

He didn’t answer of course but he sat down on his haunches and leaned his head onto her shoulder. She scratched his ears, leaning into his warmth. She was calm in that moment, though it didn’t last long.

 

Once again, her body burned hotter. Pain flashed throughout her system, leaving her breathless and shaking. Ghost nuzzled her neck, licking at her cheek.

 

“There you are, Ghost!” A loud voice to her left rang out, causing her to freeze. That voice was familiar, so familiar that it made her heart ache, “Who are you-, Lady Sansa?”

 

She unscrewed her eyes and looked up slowly, not daring to hope yet still praying that it was true.

 

She nearly wept at the sight of him. He was softer in this realm, less hardened by the world around them. His eyes were not scarred by an owl, nor were his hands a charred mess of tissue. His hair was cut shorter and his beard well trimmed, but there was no hiding that it was he. 

 

“Prince Jaemon?” She questioned. Her blue eyes met his grey ones and he winced in pain. Her own heart threatened to beat straight out of her chest. His name was simply different in this realm. She wanted to laugh and cry and dance around, but most of all, she wanted to embrace him, show him how much she loved him. 

 

But this wasn’t her Jon. This was Jaemon Targaryen, second in line for the Iron Throne, third if Rhaenys was in the running.

 

Her head was still burning but he seemed to be pain as well. His muscles were stiff though he was trembling.

 

“Prince Jaemon?” She whispered, overcoming the ache in her own head as she stepped closer. He fell to his knees then, clutching his head. She didn’t hesitate; she dashed to his side, calling his name, a name that felt so foreign on her tongue.

 

“Prince Jaemon!” She did hesitate a second before reaching out to touch his arm, afraid that it wasn’t real. His arm was solid though, and burning. Something hit her then. It was like a pail of icy cold water was thrown over her head, leaving her cold and trembling. He blinked up at her in a daze, his forehead now smooth, his eyes relaxed.

 

“Lady Sansa?” He questioned somewhat hesitantly, sitting up slowly.

 

“Are you okay?” She questioned, feeling his forehead. He was burning up, though she didn’t know if that was natural in this realm or not, “You have a fever”

 

“I do?” He questioned, reaching up to feel his own forehead, “I haven’t had a fever for nearly a fortnight,” He told her, sounding excited about it. 

 

“Strange” She murmured quietly. He had been cold for the past fortnight, nearly the same amount of time that she had been in this world, while she had had a fever the entire time. Surely that meant they had a connection of some sort, right? It had to.

 

“Are you okay, Lady Sansa? I did not mean to frighten you,” His voice had not changed but the tone was polite, indifferent almost. They were not close in this realm, which she had suspected.

 

“It takes much more to frighten me, your Grace,” She told him, determined to win him over. He stood and brushed off his breeches, extending a hand to help her up as well. She took it gratefully, enjoying the warmth of his touch. “Are you sure you are well?”

 

“I am fine, I thank you,” He told her, “You are ice cold, my lady. Your father would not be pleased if I let you stay out here much longer”

 

“I am a Stark of Winterfell, the cold cannot hurt me” She told him with a smirk, “Besides, it is positively warm in this place compared to Winterfell”

 

“Still, I cannot in good conscience allow you to be out here in your condition, Lady Sansa,” He told her calmly, “Please, allow me to escort you back to the castle,”

 

“I suppose I should head back now and dress properly. I thank you, your Grace,” She told him, jumping at the chance to hold onto his for just a few minutes longer. She would be able to touch him, talk to him for just a bit longer. He offered her his arm and she tucked her hand into his elbow. She wanted to wrap her arms around him, but she would settle with this for now. 

 

“I barely recognized you, I admit” He spoke as they walked out of the Godswood.

 

“I snuck out of my chambers” She found herself telling him, “I did not wish to wake my maids, so I put on what I could. I figured none of the servants would recognize me in breeches,”

 

“I daresay they wouldn’t” He replied. They left the godswood then, entering the courtyard. It was drizzling lightly. They lapsed into silence as they walked towards the front gates. A guard pulled the door open immediately, letting them in.

 

‘Have you broken your fast, Lady Sansa?” He questioned as they walked towards the Dining Hall. She could smell breakfast from there. It smelt heavenly.

 

‘I have not. Have you, your Grace?” She questioned.

 

“I have not either. Would you like to accompany me there?”

 

“I would like that, Prince Jaemon” She replied, smiling slightly. Her mother would give her hell for arriving to breakfast in breeches, but she supposed she could blame her illness now, until she proved it false, of course.

 

“Are you sure you feel well, Lady Sansa?” He questioned as they stopped outside of the Dining Hall. He was looking at her strangely, “You’ve been calling me Jaemon all morning”

 

‘That is your name, isn’t it?” She questioned slowly, wondering what he meant.

 

“I know we are not close, cousin, and I am not sure I’ve ever even spoken as many words to you as I have today in my life, but surely you know that family, and many others, call me Jon,” She kept her face neutral but she elated inside. It would be so sweet to call him by his real name, the name she knew him as.

 

“I apologize, Prince Jon,” She told him quietly, relishing his name on her tongue, “I did not wish to assume anything, or be too familial,”

 

“We are cousins, Lady Sansa. It is hardly presumptuous,” He told her quietly, smiling slightly as they entered the dining hall together. Their families were already eating, along with the Baratheon’s. Everyone looked up as they entered.

 

“My apologies” Jon told them as they walked towards the table. There were two seats left empty near her brother, side by side. She grinned realizing that she would get to spend even more time with him, “I went to find Ghost in the Godswood, and accidentally interrupted Lady Sansa’s prayer”

 

“We have been looking for the two of you all morning,” King Rhaegar told them as they took their seats. She kept her smile sedate and polite as Jon pulled out the chair for her. A servant immediately brought out two goblets of wine, while another trailed behind with two plates of food.

 

“We were quite worried, Jon” Queen Lyanna spoke, looking at her son with sharp eyes.

 

“I am fine, mother” Jon told her stiffly. Robb and Aegon both snickered beside him. It seemed like Aegon and Robb were better friends then Robb and Jon were in this realm. It made her sad.  The Queen gave Jon a look, but turned her attention back to the other adults. Aegon turned to her.

 

“You look quite lovely in breeches, Lady Sansa,” He told her, smirking.

 

“Thank you, Prince Aegon,” She told him before taking a huge bite of her oatmeal. It was warmed and filled with honey and berries. It tasted heavenly. She took another large bite, wanting to savor the taste forever.

 

“Hungry, Sansa?” Robb questioned as he took a much smaller bite of his own oatmeal.

 

“Famished” She replied, taking another bite, “This is delicious,”

 

“It’s just oatmeal,” Bran told her with a strange look in his eyes.

 

“Aegon and I are going to ride down to the coast to meet Uncle Brandon and the rest of the guard after breakfast” Robb spoke to Bran, “If you would like, you may accompany us, Bran”

 

‘As may you, Jon” Aegon told his younger brother.

 

“May I come?” She questioned before either Bran or Jon could answer. Aegon and Robb both looked surprised by her request.

 

“You want to go riding with us?” Robb questioned slowly, “It’s a dangerous path, Sansa”

 

“I think that I can handle it, brother” She told him, “Would you like to make another wager?” She lowered her voice so that her parents would not hear that part. She wasn’t supposed to be making wagers, it was unladylike.

 

“No” Robb shook his head quickly, “I owe you enough already. I swear you cheated some how”

 

“What sort of wager did you two make?” Aegon questioned, looking interested. Once again she questioned how close she had been to the crown prince. He seemed interested in her.

 

“A horseback race” She answered proudly, “I won by several feet”

 

“She cheated” Robb protested, “And then she managed to ride all the way without a side saddle, though you did fall ill on the ship”

 

“Seasickness, Robb, not an illness from not riding sidesaddle” She told him, shaking her head, “He now owes me two pairs of slippers”

 

“You lost a race to a lady?” Aegon questioned, “No offense, Lady Sansa”

 

“Offense taken, Prince Aegon” She remarked, “Prince Jon, cousin, do you think I could best your dear brother?” She questioned, looking to Jon who was watching them with interest.

 

“My brother is a skilled horseman, my lady” Jon replied carefully, “And as I have not yet had the pleasure of riding with you, I cannot speak on your skill nor the outcome of such a race,”

 

“Oh, so diplomatic, little nephew” Daenerys had joined them at their end of the table, sliding in next to her nephew, a goblet of wine in her hands, “I daresay I could outride Aegon,”

 

“Yes, but you trained with a khalassar,” Prince Aegon pointed out. So it was true in this realm as well. She was glad. She had hoped Daenerys hadn’t changed too much. She had been likable and friendly in their past world.

 

“What say you and I make a small wager, Prince Aegon?” She questioned, glancing to her side to make sure her parents were engaged.

 

“Name your prize” Aegon told her, grinning.

 

“The dagger on your belt” She told him, gesturing to the ivory hilted dagger. It was a beautiful piece of steel, “Unless it has a great meaning to you, of course” She wouldn’t want to steal a gift from someone. 

 

“It was a gift from Viserys, if you had asked I would have given it freely” Aegon chuckled as he put it on the table, passing it to Daenerys to hold on to, “And what do I get if I win?” He questioned, “Tis a lovely leather bracelet you have,” He reached forward to touch the design Jon had etched into the leather in a past life. 

 

“That is not an option,” She told him shortly, “It has great meaning to me, your Grace,” She added demurely. Robb looked confused, trying to get a better look at the thing, but she pulled her hand away.

 

“As you wish,” Aegon shrugged, “Your hand in the first set of Lady Arya’s wedding then,” He wagered.

 

“Deal” She reached out her hand for him to shake. He gripped firmly, but briefly. Like Jon, his skin was hotter then normal, though Aegon seemed to burn a bit hotter then Jon. Perhaps it was because of his Northern blood. 

 

They finished their breakfast in relative silence after that. When she went to follow the boys to the stables for their outing, her mother called her name, causing everyone to stop.

 

“Sansa” Her mother’s voice was surprised, “Where are you going, dear?” She softened it, aware that everyone was watching them. Even if they were all technically family, or close to it, her mother seemed ill at ease with her good sister, the Queen.

 

“Robb and Prince Aegon have graciously invited me to ride into town with them to meet Uncle Brandon,” She replied honestly.

 

“Queen Lyanna and the princesses have graciously invited us to the Queen’s solar to work on your sister’s maiden’s cloak,” Her mother told her, as if she should have expected that.

 

“I am sure that my good sister and niece will forgive Lady Sansa for wanting to see her dear uncle, Lady Catelyn” Daenerys spoke for her, discretely slipping Aegon’s dagger under her cloak, “In fact, Lya, I’m feeling rather anxious for some fresh air, and I know that Lady Arya loves riding, so perhaps we could postpone our embroidering  until after teatime,”

 

“It is your cloak, Arya, what say you?” Her aunt questioned, looking fondly at her little sister.

 

“Cloak be damned, Aunt. I would much rather go riding and see Uncle Brandon,” Arya replied with her usual tact. Queen Lyanna only smiled at her with fondness, nodding as she took a sip from her goblet.

 

“Then it is decided,” 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a little dialogue heavy, but at least we finally found Jon! Next up is Sansa trying to befriend him all over again. Thanks for reading!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning, this will end in a cliff hanger. Not a soul torturing one, but a cliff hanger none the less. Enjoy!

**Chapter 10**

**The Stormlands**

**Storm's End**

**Sansa Stark**

 

As she readied herself in her chambers for their ride, she thought back to the first she had ridden with Jon during their departure from the Vale. It was after Petyr was killed, after the magical fog lifted from Jon. She had not strayed too far from him, just as he tended to stick by her side. She was afraid he would disappear, leaving her without a family again. She had a sinking suspicion that he felt the same, though they were not quite in the secret sharing part of their relationship. They were simply happy to be in each other's company at that point, happy to not be alone anymore. It was platonic though she would be lying if she hadn't noticed how handsome he had grown. As she tied her hair back into a tighter, riding appropriate plait, she remembered how disastrous that ride had gone.

 

_ It was warm under the protection of Jon's thick black cloak. He claimed he did not need it anymore, not when his blood was burning so warmly. In truth, the cold wasn't so bothersome, but the cloak brought comfort to her. It smelt of the North and reminded her of home. Everything about Jon reminded her of her old home, a home that lay in ruins now. That was where they had set their path towards though. Jon claimed that the Bolton's had rebuilt after destroying it, and that the winter had killed many of them. They would take Winterfell back and use it at their strong hold against those that sought to destroy them, those that were dead and those who still lived.  _

 

_ The Mountains of the Moon were their current dilemma. They were difficult to traverse and the clans were still warring with everyone and anyone. They had already lost a handful of men in small fights, and they did not wish to lose anymore.  They were losing sunlight as well. It only shined for a few hours. They were lucky though. Soon the sun would cease to shine as the winter reached it apex. There was always a period of darkness in the winter. Sometimes it lasted a mere moon's turn, and others it lasted years.  _

 

_ She never saw the attack. She heard Jon yell an order to take cover, and then arrows and knives were soaring through the air. She heard the pained screams of those that were hit, and the sounds of Jon and his commanders calling out orders, striking back. _

 

_ "Sansa, stay low," Jon shouted as he charged past her, towards an area that appeared to have become the center of the battle. His Ice like sword was drawn, ready to hack through those that stood in their way. There were mountain men dressed in ragged furs wielding giant hammers and axes. They tore easily through a few soldiers, killing them carelessly. She ducked low on her old palfrey, hugging its neck as she tried to avoid the thick of things. She had no weapon on her. _

 

_ An arrow cut dangerously close to her face, slicing the side of her forehead. She felt the blood drip down her cheek, down her neck, hot and sticky. Her heart was pounding and she felt so alive and on fire. She knew it was a normal bodily response to action like this, but still, it gave her a strange feeling. She felt as if she wanted to fight. She did not wish to die without having at least tried to protect herself.  _

 

_ "Sansa!" She heard Jon's scream, watched him charge towards her, before she realized that her poor old palfrey had come into the path of an axe wielding mountain man. The old beast whined before canting upwards, sending her scrambling to hold on lest she be thrown off the back. The mountain man cut into the underside of her horse though, the blood spray reaching her as the husk of a horse pitched forward in death, "Sansa, jump!" Jon urged, now close to her. He was reaching towards her. She grabbed his hand, her foot twisting in the stirrup. Pain radiating through her ankle as Jon tugged her onto the saddle behind him, yelling at her to hold tight as his sword cut through the mountain man that had killed her horse. _

 

_ When they had made it out of the pass and into a safer area where the mountain men were not, Jon pulled his horse to a stop, jumping down first to help her dismount. She landed gingerly on her twisted ankle, wincing at the sharp pains that shot through her. It was not so terrible though. There were others far worse off then she at the moment. She told Jon as much as he led her to a fallen log as he ordered the men to start a fire before tending to their wounds. He shushed her though, pulling his cloak tighter around her shoulder and kneeling before her to check her ankle. With burning hands he prodded at the bones in a weird fashion before scooping up a handful of snow and pressing it to her foot. She yelped at the coldness, causing Jon to chuckle. _

 

_ "It'll lessen the swelling, my lady," He murmured as he packed more freezing snow to her foot, "I thought you were of the North," _

 

_ "Wolves can still freeze," She shivered, her teeth chattering as she spoke. Jon just packed more snow upon her foot, encasing it. He then stood and situated himself next to her, wrapping his arms around her hesitantly. He radiated warmth far better then his cloak did. She leaned into him, feeling at peace even as her foot froze before her. She knew she was sleepy as an after effect of the battle high she had felt early, the rush of emotion as she had nearly met her end. She welcomed the sleep, feeling secure and safe in the arms of her stoic savior. _

 

"Sansa, hurry up! No need to look pretty for riding!" Arya banged on her door, jarring her from her memories. Tears had tracked down her cheeks unbewknost to her. She wiped them quickly before meeting Arya in the hallway, ready for their little trip to the seaside town. It would be the two princes's, Princess Daenerys, Robb, Bran, Arya, and herself. Gendry was staying behind to practice in the yard with Rickon, who wasn’t allowed to travel on the rocky path to town. Princess Rhaenys chose to stay behind as well, feigning a headache or so Daenerys said. The older men, her father, Lord Robert, and the King went to Lord Robert’s solar to discuss matters of the realm. Prince Viserys was nowhere to be seen. Her mother and her aunt were doing other things, separate things. Sewing together would come later in the day. For once she was not eager to be with a thread and needle. 

 

They took a handful of guards with them, surprisingly few for the royal family. She supposed it was a time of peace in the realm, and it was a private road through a rocky setting, so they weren’t afraid of attack. The Kingsguard would arrive all together today, save for the single one that had stayed in the capital. Apparently the Kingsguard had been deterred by weather, hence their late arrival. Prince Aegon boasted that they needed no guards with their dragons, but nearly every other royal had rolled their eyes at his proclamation. 

 

“This one is yours, Sansa” Robb told her as he led her to a light grey palfrey. 

 

“She’s older then Maester Cressen” She told him with a frown, “You’re playing dirty, Robb” Nonetheless, she checked the horse out, looking at the shoes and her legs. She seemed healthy enough.She turned to see what sort of mount Prince Aegon was riding.  He was mounted on a dapple grey that seemed quite young and agile. She frowned as he winked at her. 

 

“You can have my horse, Lady Sansa” Daenerys voice sounded behind her. She was leading a light brown mare over. It was much more equal to Prince Aegon’s horse, “The Kingsguard brings my own personal horse with them. I would prefer to ride her home, and your sister has graciously allowed me to ride with her,” Arya sat on a double saddled black beast. She had no doubt that it belonged to Gendry.

 

“Thank you, princess” She replied, taking the reigns. One of the stable boys led her decrepit horse back to its stall. She checked the new horses saddle and stirrups, finding them perfect, of course. Daenerys knew a thing or two about horses. She placed her foot in the saddle and pulled herself up.

 

“The riders have just left,” Gendry told them as he checked Arya’s saddle. Once he was sure it was secure, he helped the princess up behind her. They had sent riders ahead, to be safe. Gendry and Rickon were seeing them off before heading to practice with swords.

 

“Thank you, good ser” Aegon replied cheerfully, tossing a silver coin at him. Gendry scowled at his cousin, whipping the coin back at a surprising speed, but Aegon just dodged it and laughed. Maybe they were close for second cousins.

 

“You’ll want to hold off racing until you leave the rock road, it’s too narrow for anything more then a slow trot,” Gendry grumbled as Aegon's laughter turned to chuckling, and then to silence,  “There’s a decent stretch of road right before the city that you can race on,”

 

“Yes, yes, we know, cousin” Aegon replied, rolling his eyes, “Go play with your wooden swords and the littlest wolf,”

 

"Don't mock the wolves," Robb told him sharply.

 

Gendry scowled and waved them off. The rest of the guard traveled behind them. It was a mix of Baratheon and Stark men. From the front gates of the castle, they went west, towards the town, instead of east towards the sea. She actually would have preferred to see it again. She had been too busy trying not to puke when they had first arrived. True to his word, the path Gendry had described was narrow and rocky, barely carved into the cliff. It reminded her of the past and riding the mules with Mya. They had to travel in a single line at most points.

 

It got trickier after they started going down the rocky path. It was carved into the mountain between Storm's End and the seaside town. She heard even Daenerys comment on the steep path as one of the guards cursed. It was nearly as nerve wracking as her journey up the Vale had been. It wasn't icy though, so that was a plus. 

 

“Don’t look down, Bran” Robb advised as they were forced to nearly hug the wall of the cliff. The horses were sure footed though. They appeared to know the path already. 

 

“Only good advice dear old Uncle Robert’s ever gave us,” Prince Aegon muttered. Arya and the princess were in the front, leading them. Behind the two of them sat Robb, then Aegon, then Bran, then she, then Jon, “You aren’t afraid of looking down are you, little brother?” Aegon called back to Jon.

 

“I’ve ridden this path before, Aegon” Jon called back. She could nearly imagine him rolling his eyes at Aegon. 

 

“Ah, I wish he were as young and easy as Bran. Would make it so much more interesting to be an elder brother,” Aegon teased, “How fares your ride, Lady Sansa?”

 

“It is an amazing path” She told him truthfully, “I mean, just look down at it all, Prince Aegon. The rushing water, the outcropping of quartz and other mineral rocks. It’s gorgeous,” She gushed, embellishing a bit. She had looked down. Heights had never been one of her vices. She had stared down into the abyss under the Moon Door. She could handle this. At least there was a bottom to see should they fall. 

 

“You are not supposed to look down, my lady” Prince Aegon told her, laughing.

 

“Gendry says that there are paths underneath us, rope bridges and such, that lead under the castle,” Arya told them as they rode onto a wider path, “Mayhap we can go back that way,”

 

“I bet Ser Ronnet knows the paths,” Jon commented, “He was fostered here for a few years before he left to squire for Ser Whent,” She did not recognize either of the names, but she supposed in this world, the Kingsguard wasn’t made of fools like Ser Boros or Ser Meryn, or at least she hoped.

 

“Then we will beg Ser Ronnet to show us the way,” Daenerys decided, “If we ever get there. Hustle up, men,” She whistled sharply. 

 

It took another fifteen or so minutes for them to get to the end of the narrow, rocky path. They emerged overlooking a valley that bordered the coast, where they could see a small dock and a beach. It was beautiful, so lush and alive. Everything was green or blue. There was a little village with cottages that had smoke coming from chimneys, and farms were she could see cows and sheep at pasture. It was a far cry from the burnt out, winter shell of a Westeros she had left. She stopped herself next to Jon, but then Aegon was upon her.

 

“Are you ready, my lady?” He questioned as he pulled his horse up next to hers. She looked out before her, surveying the land and the path. It appeared to be well kept, so that wouldn't be an issue, but it was long, and they needed an end point.

 

“Where is the end point, my prince?” She questioned.

 

“The Targaryen banners, can you see them? The Baratheon guards have met them there,” She rescanned the area and found the black and red on the outskirts. She had missed them in her first sweep of the land. The black blended in easily. The yellow of the Baratheon guards was not so good at blending. She saw a group of yellow and black banners that were just about to meet those of the royal family. 

 

“Okay, on Princess Daenerys mark then,” She told him, adjusting her feet and position in the saddle, making sure the reigns were tight. Her muscles were going to ache like hell tonight, but she wanted that dagger. It was an opportunity to arm herself without raising suspicions. 

 

“Nephew, Lord Robb, race ahead so that we may see who is the clear winner. Aegon is prone to pulling a fit when he loses, so I want witnesses” Daenerys explained with a sly smile towards her nephew. Aegon scowled in good nature.Robb took one quick look at Jon before he was racing away, Jon following after a second. She heard Robb shout that he would beat him, to which Jon replied something along the lines of this isn't even a race. She smiled at that. They could still be good friends in this realm. They watched until the two were halfway down and Daenerys spoke again.

 

“No dirty tricks, no cheating” She warned them sternly, “On the count of three, one, two, three” 

 

They both darted forward, neck and neck as they dirt sprayed up behind them, She ducked her head low, digging her heels into her horse’s flank. She had to go faster, she had to outpace him. They were going downhill so they had that advantage, but the road with straighten out, so she would have to keep up the momentum at that point. 

 

They were stuck at the same place as they raced down the incline, but Aegon’s horse pulled ahead when they leveled out. He was not even the full length of the horse ahead of her, but it was still a problem. She cursed and dug her heels in further, whipping her reigns and urging the horse to move faster.  The red and black, yellow and black banners were getting closer and closer as they neared the end. She was slowly getting closer and closer to Aegon. And then she was beside him and passing him, her hair whipping around her face.

 

“Ha!” She called, turning back to grin at him. He was scowling at her, but he was still concentrated as well. His lilac eyes were deep in thought, his brow furrowed.

 

“Sansa!” She heard her brother’s voice, and turned quickly, whipping her head around just in time to see that a guard and his horse had rode closer, now directly in line with her own horse. 

 

“Whoa!” She tugged hard on the reigns, causing the horse to stop quickly and rear up onto its hind legs, whining in protest at such a stop. She pressed her boots into the stirrups, holding tight as the horse went vertical on her. She could barely hear Robb yelling over the rush of her blood. 

 

When the horse finally came down on all four legs, she hopped down from the saddle, breathing a bit raggedly. That was a close call, thanks to the idiot guard. Who the hell got the idea to sit right in the line of a charging horse? She leaned against her poor horse, breathing slowly to calm herself.

 

“Are you alright?” The guard questioned as he dismounted. He was tall and thick, wearing white armor. He had to be a part of the Kingsguard.

 

“Yes, no thanks to you,” She muttered, “What were you thinking in cutting a rider off like that? That was reckless and dangerous, ser.A member of the Kingsguard should know better,”

 

“Sansa” Robb laughed, “Stop berating him,”

 

“It was stupid and it nearly cost me the race, Robb” She whined, glaring at the guard as he reached up to take off his helmet. A cascade of dark curls fell down and she found herself looking at a slightly more handsome version of her father, “Uncle Brandon clearly was trying to help Prince Aegon win,” She announced when she realized who it was, and realized that she probably should have known it was him.

 

“You look like my niece Sansa, and yet you act like my other niece, Arya. Who are you and what have you done with said nieces?” Ser Brandon Stark questioned, his grey eyes amused, as he looked her over.

 

“Goddamn, Ser Brandon. You nearly won me the race,” Aegon told him as he reached them, having dismounted his mount a few feet away, “A foot ahead, and I would have been the clear winner,”

 

“You were racing? The two of you?” Brandon questioned, looking between them, “And where are the rest of you? Princess Daenerys, Arya, and Bran? The guards told me you were all together,”

 

“They’re there” She pointed to where they were approaching, “Robb and Jon rode ahead to call the winner of the race, the stayed behind to make sure it was a fair start,”

 

“A race, eh? Does that include a wager, Lady Sansa? Because that does not sound very ladylike to me,” He winked.

 

“It does, Ser Brandon” Daenerys and Arya had arrived, the former brandishing her new dagger. She passed it to her, hilt side up. She gripped it in her palm, marveling at how light it was.

 

“It’s Valyrian steel,” Jon told her quietly. 

 

“Yes, it is. God knows where Viserys found it,” Prince Aegon murmured, “I won it from him in a card game. He wasn’t happy to see it go, so take care to keep it in your sight. That’s why I always wore it on my belt,”

 

“Then I shall cherish it, Prince Aegon” She replied as she slipped it under her own belt. She would have to find a wrist holster for it so that it could be hidden under her sleeves, “What say you of my riding skills now, Prince Jon?” She questioned, turning back to him. She gave him her brightest smile. It wasn't difficult. She looked at him and wanted to smile just because he was alive. 

 

“Unparalleled, my lady” He replied with a cautious grin. 

 

“Well, as exciting as this has been, I must insist we get moving,” Their uncle told them, “Princess, your horse is with Ser Ronnet,”

 

“Oh good, we were hoping Ser Ronnet could show us the under paths of the path back to the castle, Uncle” Arya told him, “We needn’t all go, just a few guards and us,”

 

“If you can persuade Ser Ronnet, I have no qualms,” Their Uncle replied. Arya cheered and raced forward to find the guard. Daenerys returned on a stunning silver mare. 

 

“This is my horse,” Daenerys told her proudly, “In Dothraki culture, it is not custom to name them,”

 

“She is beautiful, princess,” She told her honestly, “What a gracious gift,”

 

“The Dothraki are an interesting race, Lady Sansa,” Was her reply.

 

Arya returned with a young Kingsguard member. He was older then them, but still younger then most of the Kingsguard. He had long reddish hair, similar to Robb’s, and an easy grin.

 

“Your Graces, my lords, my lady,” He bowed, “Lady Arya tells me that she wishes to learn the underground route to her new home. Ser Barristan has agreed on the stipulation that Ser Brandon and himself accompany us. The rest of the guard shall continue ahead, on the usual route. I must warn you, the underground passageways and rope bridges are not for the faint of heart. The horses will make it past the first stone bridge, but from there a Baratheon guard will lead them back to the merchant’s route. It is not an easy walk, but it is a beautiful one. Those who do not wish to take it, speak now, because there will be no going back," He warned. Bran gulped but after looking at Robb, straightening his back, squaring his shoulders. 

 

“I will take the original route” Princess Daenerys spoke softly, “I do not wish to further neglect my darling silver,” She told them as she stroked the soft mane of the horse beneath her. Silver was a good thing to call the horse, even if Dothraki did not technically name them. 

 

“Alright, Bran? Sansa? Jon?” Her uncle questioned, “Are you all good for riding?”

 

“Of course, uncle” She replied as Bran and Jon replied in the positive as well. Arya looked beyond eager. 

 

“Then off we go”

 

They traveled at a brisk trot back towards the mountainous road. She rode in middle, between Arya and Daenerys. Her sister actually drew her into a conversation, and though she wished to spend her time trying to engage Jon in conversation, she wished to speak with her sister as well, especially when Arya wanted to chat. They spoke of the rest of the noble houses arriving on the morrow, including the Tyrell’s and the Martel’s. There was no mention of the Lannister’s. She did not ask.

 

When they reached the original route, Daenerys and the majority of the guards went left, while they went right, heading downhill again. Ser Barristan rode at the back, behind her, silently. There were two Baratheon guards behind him. Barristan looked as he had in the past life, strong and capable. Ser Ronnet rode in the front with Arya, pointing things out, while Robb, Bran, and Prince Aegon peppered their uncle with questions. Jon rode ahead of her, silent as well.

 

They came to a narrow stone bridge. It was flat across, no ledge or anything, just a straight plunge down. The water rushed beneath them. Close enough for them to hear and see, but far enough of a drop to kill them for sure.

 

“Keep that horse well in hand, Brandon” Their uncle warned his namesake as they rode across. Bran sat straight as an arrow, reigns clutched tightly in his hands. He wanted to impress his uncle no doubt, “You as well, Sansa” He called back as he rode across. She had no problem doing just that. 

 

She marveled at the coursing water as they traveled over, and then they stopped just past the bridge.

 

“This is the point where we dismount,” Ser Ronnet called ahead, already jumping off of his horse. He tied the beast to Arya’s horse as she jumped down, and then roped in Aegon’s, Robb’s, and Bran’s. Ser Barristan tied her horse with Jon’s and their uncle’s. 

 

“Inform the King and Queen, and Lord Robert about our plans” Barristan ordered as he roped the horses to the two guards to lead them home, “And ensure that our horses are well tended to by the stable hands. They’ve had a long journey,”

 

“Yes, ser” They replied, and then they were off. 

 

“Well, it’s this way,” Ser Ronnet told them and they took off on foot.

 

Once again, Arya engaged Ser Ronnet as they walked, learning everything she could about her new home. Uncle Brandon seemed to regaling the boys with a story from the road about their little delay, which even Prince Aegon and Robb seemed to find interesting. Bran was positively enthralled with whatever it was. 

 

To her surprise, and utter delight, Jon fell into step next to her. He was quiet, but his presence was soothing enough. Ser Barristan traveled silently behind them. She would have never even know he was there if not for the telltale clink of his armor.

 

“Are you pleased with your new prize, Lady Sansa?” He questioned as they walked along. She was absently playing with the hilt.

 

“Quite pleased,” She answered, “Though I suppose now I don’t have a partner for the first dance at Arya’s wedding feast,” She was hoping that he would ask her, for she would accept instantly. Of course, Jon was still Jon, even if he really wasn't. 

 

“I am sure that Aegon would still be honored to dance the first set with you, my lady,” Jon told her. It made her smile. It was something her own Jon would have said. He had been so oblivious to her advances in the beginning, it was laughable. In fact, she could hear suspicious sounding coughing from behind them, letting her know that Ser Barristan had surely heard their words and understood her meaning from her blatant tone. Being coy and flirty was not going to work with Jon, she realized. She would probably have to ask him to dance before he asked her.

 

“Are you alright, Ser Barristan?” Jon had stopped to look at the older man, concern written plainly across his face. She turned as well, watching as the older man schooled his features from a grin to a grimace, pretending to cough.

 

“I am fine, your Grace, I thank you,” He murmured, hiding another chuckle behind his silver plated hand. 

 

“What’s the holdup back there?” Their uncle shouted from ahead. They had lagged behind quite a few steps. Arya and Ser Ronnet were nearly out of sight.

 

“Keep moving” Barristan yelled back, “Walk ahead, your Grace, Lady Sansa” He advised them. They both nodded and continued to walk down the dirt path. It was well worn, meaning it was still used for the castle workers. She knew most of them probably had family in the village by the sea. They were curving around the mountain now, at points disappearing into the mountain where men centuries past had carved pathways. Those were interesting and tight. She bumped accidentally into Jon a few times, apologizing as her hand steadied herself against his strong arm or shoulder. 

 

“I think they’ve stopped” Jon murmured as they came out of the mountain. The rest of the group had stopped at the beginning of the bridge that spanned before them. It was old looking, and dangerous, even for her. The bridge they had ridden their horses over was nothing compared to this.

 

“This bridge is old, though it is well maintained. I will cross first. For the sake of weights, Lady Arya you will cross next with Prince Aegon. Brandon, you will cross behind them. Lord Robb and Lord Bran, you will be next. Prince Jon and Lady Sansa will follow. Do not step onto the bridge until the group before you have left it. Step evenly onto the planks and watch your step. Do not look down if you are afraid of heights or falling, there will be no panicking. Is that clear?” Ser Ronnet told them. Everyone nodded. 

 

He went first, cautiously yet confidently. She watched his footfalls, how they always landed even in the middle of the plank. He got across quickly, his face looking forward. When he reached the end, he waved for their attention.

 

“Watch the middle, it’s cracking!” He yelled before urging Prince Aegon and Arya to start.

 

“After you, my lady” Aegon told her gallantly. Arya snorted and shook her head at his antics and off they went. Arya raced across, her feet uneven against the planks as she watched what was going on beneath her. Aegon kept his head high, his strides even and well paced.

 

“I guess it’s my turn. If I perish, make sure to tell your Uncle Benjen that I was always the favorite uncle, will you?”

 

“Enough, Ser Brandon” Ser Barristan sighed like an irate parent, “We haven’t all day,”

 

“Yes, Lord Commander” Brandon nodded and he was off. He, like Ronnet, strode across confidently. A minute later, he was at the end, waving for Bran and Robb to start.

 

“We’re up, Bran” Robb told him, “You want to go first or last?”

 

“First” Bran was already stepping onto the bridge while he spoke. Robb followed after a second. They made it across quickly, though they slowed their steps in the middle. Robb pushed him forward, and a minute later, they joined the rest of them. Once again, Ser Ronnet yelled out a warning for the middle.

 

“Off you go,” Ser Barristan told them, “Watch the middle, Prince Jon, or your mother will have our heads,” He joked though it seemed serious at the same time. It was clear to even her that the Queen doted on him, a bit too much maybe. He deserved it though. He had lacked motherly love in the past realm, so he deserved twice as much in this realm. Jon gestured for her to go first, just as Aegon had done with Arya though it was less sarcastic. She smiled as she passed him, stepping evenly onto the old wooden plank.

 

The planks were quite old and rotting in places, so she watched carefully where she placed her feet. It swayed a bit in the breeze, but there were rope handrails to keep you balanced. She gripped those lightly as she strode forward as confidently as she could. She was glad for her breeches in that moment because a dress would have been killer on the planks.

 

As they approached the middle, they slowed their steps. Knowing her abysmal luck, she kept close watch on the planks her foot stepped upon. Jon slowed behind her as well. They were nearly to the end when she heard Jon let out a relieved sigh. Curious, she turned to see what had caused it.

 

“I expected worse,” He told her as he noticed her watching him. She smiled and nodded.

 

“It was rather anticlimactic, wasn-” She didn’t get to finish her sentence though. The ground beneath her gave way with a loud _crack_ , and then she was falling straight down, scraping against the splintered wood. She heard her name being yelled by multiple people as she tried to desperately grab a hold onto anything. She felt the wood scrape against her palm as she failed to hold on, her fingers grasping at the empty air.

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

A pale hand caught her own hand just in time. She nearly slipped through his grasp, but he had managed to snag her wrist before that happened. It hurt, but at least she wasn't free falling into the ravine beneath them. Her breathing was ragged as she stared up at Jon, who was lying against the planks, holding her from falling to her certain death. His grey eyes were calm on the surface, but she could see the terror beneath them.

 

“I have you,” He promised, “I won’t let go,”

 

‘I know” She replied, trusting him easily. It was hard not to. She knew that he wasn't her Jon, but he was still so similar and familiar. He had the same look, obviously, but his mannerisms were identical to her Jon was well. 

 

“Hang on tight, I’ll pull you up,” He told her. She reached up and wrapped her other hand around his wrist, holding tightly. Her legs dangled uselessly beneath her. Jon looked over his shoulder, and shifted, causing her to swing to the left. He must have grabbed the other side of the railing to get leverage. She watched his muscles strain as he pulled her up. He was crouching on the balls of his feet, having moved to get leverage to haul her up, and so when she was finally free from dangling, he lost his balance, slamming backwards and pulling her with him. They were lucky the planks held for that.  They were both breathing hard. She was half atop him, her chest pressed to his, their hands still intertwined. His eyes were watching her carefully, as she watched him. She wanted so badly to lean forward and press her lips to his. It would be so sweet.

 

Ser Ronnet ruined the moment. He had approached them from the opposite side, staying a few steps away for safety.

 

“Are you both alright?” He questioned, his breath sounding a bit ragged. No doubt they had scared everyone else.

 

“We’re alive,” Jon hollered back, “I think Lady Sansa is bleeding,” Her hands were indeed scraped and torn from the wood. Jon’s own hand was stained with her blood, but his arm was scraped as well. The wood splinters had torn through his tunic. He would have rope burns as well on his other hand from where he had used it as leverage. That would hurt for awhile.

 

“Prince Jon is bleeding as well” She called back.

 

“Stand up carefully and hold tight to the rope,” Ser Ronnet called back, “We must get you off this bridge as quickly as we can,”

 

Jon stood first, pulling himself up with the aid of the railing. The bridge swayed with his moments. He pulled her up next, their hands still intertwined.

 

“Careful” He murmured as he stepped forward. He was in front of her, stepping over the hole she had just fallen through.It wasn’t that big, only two planks had broken. Once they got across that, they ran the rest of the short distance.

 

After assuring everyone that they were fine, getting her hands inspected by Uncle Brandon, and watching anxiously as Ser Barristan crossed, they were hustled along the rest of the path. 

 

“Are you sure that you’re alright, Lady Sansa?” Prince Aegon questioned for the fifth time. It was getting on her nerves.

 

“I am fine, Prince Aegon. I thank you for you concern, but it is not needed. My hands are merely scraped and my mind is not ill at ease over the course of the last ten minutes,”

 

“You nearly plummeted to your death, Lady Sansa. You are lucky to have survived,”

 

“I am lucky that Prince Jon was there to catch me, Prince Aegon,” She corrected. She had had to let go of Jon’s hand so that her uncle could bandage it and Jon’s arm, but he had offered her his elbow again as they walked, something she gratefully took. She noticed that his hand appeared to be shaking, but she didn’t comment on it. The shaking stopped when she took his elbow for balance. It brought her a strange sense of comfort. 

 

“You are lucky you had turned around to speak to the prince or he wouldn’t have been able to grab your hand, Lady Sansa” Ser Barristan told her. He was walking closer to them now, watching Jon carefully.

 

“Which ultimately led the lady to step on the broken end of that plank,” Ser Ronnet told them, rolling his eyes, “Whatever was so important that you had to turn, Lady Sansa?”

 

“Twas nothing in particular, ser” She answered as she watched Jon’s ears tinge pink at the tips. He did that when he was embarrassed, “I just felt like turning. Fate, I suppose,”

 

Prince Aegon finally let her be as they got closer and closer to the castle. When they arrived, she and Jon were both ordered back to their chambers to have their wounds washed and await the maester’s examination. Arya went with her, while Prince Aegon went with his brother.  She didn’t have time to thank him as Arya whisked her away. A nervous Catelyn Stark met them in her chambers with a maid. Her hand was cleaned, debrided, and slicked with salves before the bandages were wrapped tightly. Her mother seemed concerned beyond that though. She had Maester Cressen check the wounds, then her head, and then her breathing.

 

“I daresay Lady Sansa has recovered quite well from her illness, my lady. We need not fear further of the fever. If anything, she is a bit chilled,”

 

“I feel fine,” She told the maester, “My hand does not hurt too badly and my headache is gone completely. It was just seasickness, mother,”

 

“You were never sick at sea as a child,”

 

“These things can develop quite spontaneously, my lady” Maester Cressen told her mother softly, “I am confident that Lady Sansa is truly well,”

 

“Thank you, Maester Cressen” She told him gratefully. The Maester took his leave then, leaving her with her mother, “Are we still having tea with the Queen and the princesses?” She questioned.

 

“Yes,” Her mother told her, “If you are up to it with that hand,”

 

“I shall be more then fine,” She promised, “I have to finish my dress for Arya’s wedding,”

 

“I thought you were finished,” Her mother reminded her. She had been, but that dress was no longer something she would ever wear. It was gaudy and over done. She had ditched it in White Harbor in fact. Now she had very little time to embroider one of the light blue gowns she had. 

 

“Yes, but I’ve decided to wear something different, something more Stark,” She told her mother with a shrug.

 

“Very well,” Her mother nodded, “I shall meet you in your sister’s room in fifteen minutes. Take care to fix your hair before you arrive” Her mother told her as she and departed. Before the maid and her mother had even set to work on her hand, she had been bathed and put back into a gown. It was royal blue and purple. It made her hair look redder. It wasn’t her favorite gown, as it was very southern styled, but it was comfortable to wear. With her mother gone, she plaited her hair over her shoulder, tying it off with a blue ribbon.

 

She found Lady in the corridor, waiting for her. They walked together to Arya’s chambers, where Nymeria was sitting guard. She could hear her mother and Arya arguing in her chambers, so she waited outside with the two wolves. A few moments later, her sister emerged looking uncomfortable in a dark green gown. It was cinched rather tightly around her waist. Her cloak was in her hands before her. 

 

“Sansa, if the Queen asks about her cloak, you have to lie, don’t forget” Arya told her as their mother walked a few steps in front of them, “She doesn’t know that father forbade me to wear it,”

 

“He forbade you?”

 

“Gods, Sansa, now is not the time to be forgetful, you know father still has a chip on his shoulder from Aunt Lya eloping like she did,” Arya hissed as they got closer and closer to the Queen’s solar, “At least try to lie, I know you’re dreadful at it, but it will hurt father as well as the Queen,” She added as they stopped outside of the solar.

 

“I can lie fine,” She hissed as they entered.

 

The two princesses were already there waiting with the Queen. She welcomed them graciously, though it was mostly directed at Arya, who was seated to her immediate right. Their attention was then immediately drawn to the cloak.

 

“Oh, let me see it, my dear little wolf” Her Aunt gasped as Arya undid the cloak, revealing the charcoal grey direwolf on a field of lighter grey. The inside was lined with white fur. The clasp was two snarling direwolf heads, “Tis beautiful. You’re stitching is much improved, I am impressed,” Her Aunt’s excitement seemed dimmer, as did her grey eyes. She had noticed that it wasn’t the original Stark maiden cloak.

 

“That was all Sansa’s doing, Aunt” Arya admitted as she looked over to her. She wondered why she would have sewn the cloak for Arya if she were that upset that her sister was marrying first. And why Arya didn’t just demand to wear her Aunt’s cloak. She would have to figure that out.

 

‘Don’t start being modest now, sister” She told Arya, as she turned to the Queen, “I merely showed her a few tricks, your Grace. She is a very quick study. The cloak is her work completely,” She lied easily.

 

“I knew you could do anything you put your mind to, Arya. I am saddened, of course, that you chose not to wear my own maiden’s cloak, little wolf, but I understand now if this is what you had to chose between,” She could hear the quiet displeasure in her aunt’s voice. Arya took a breath, preparing to answer, but she cut her off.

 

“Arya wished very dearly to wear your cloak, your Grace, but I’m afraid it was damaged in the spring fire we had a few years ago. The damage was too extensive to fix,” She lied smoothly. She saw her mother quirk a brow delicately over her stitches. She had not expected her to lie so blatantly to the Queen for Arya. 

 

“A fire, how ironic” Princess Daenerys laughed, “Calm down, Lya. Think of how many Targaryen maiden cloaks have died at the hands of a fire,” 

 

“It is a marvelous piece though, Lady Arya,” Princess Rhaenys spoke at last, “Are those pearls along the edges?”

 

“The ones along the bottom are a gift from Lord Manderly,” Her mother answered for Arya, “And those along the other edges are from her grandfather,”

 

“And the clasp? It looks like a more delicate version of Ned’s clasp” Her Aunt questioned, “Was it Milken?”

 

“It was indeed,” Her mother answered, “He makes so many for Ned that he had the process down to a science,”

 

“It’s a shame you cannot keep it, little wolf, since you’ll be a stag now. Mayhap you’ll gift it to your elder brother so that the next Stark maiden can wear it. Start a new tradition,”

 

“It will go to Sansa next,” Arya answered promptly, “And from there it’s up to her to decide where it shall go,”

 

Her Aunt let the conversation go after that. They presented Arya with wedding gifts, which included a new gold and black brocade-riding jacket from Princess Rhaenys, a gold and black Essoi dress from Prince Daenerys, and from the Queen, a priceless yellow gold choker with massive onyx teardrop stones.Arya was surprisingly humble and thankful as she received the gifts though she could tell they unnerved her sister. They were all Baratheon colors.

 

She worked on her gown as her Aunt kept Arya occupied. Her mother was strangely silent as she worked on her own embroidery. Her mother was different in this world. She had not figured her out completely yet. Perhaps after Jon and Arya, she would move on to her mother. She was in truth struggling to maintain all of these new relationships. It was overwhelming her at points. 

 

“How fares your hand, Lady Sansa?” Daenerys asked after a few moments of silence, drawing her out of her thoughts of the past and present worlds. She looked up from her stitches to see the blonde regarding her with kind lilac eyes. She was genuinely interested. She must have heard about it from the boys or the guards. 

 

“It is nothing, Princess,” She told her, holding up the bandaged hand, “Far worse could have been done. I was lucky that Prince Jon managed to catch me in time,”

 

“My son caught you?” The Queen questioned, looking up from her conversation with Arya, her grey eyes strangely curious, “Did you swoon again, Lady Sansa?”

 

“No, the plank beneath her gave way as she and Jon traveled across the rope bridge on our way home,” Arya informed everyone that didn’t know, Princess Rhaenys and the Queen, “She was dangling like a league above the river and rocks beneath them, and he caught her at the last second, hauling her up. It was so close, even I feared what the outcome would be,” The Queen’s silver grey eyes widened in shock as Arya regaled them with the tale. Arya’s voice was naturally excited and bright. 

 

“Is he okay? Was he injured?” She demanded, already standing.

 

“He was fine, Lya” Daenerys answered evenly, “Ser Barristan spoke to Lord Eddard and Rhaegar when they arrived. A maester inspected his arm, and bandaged it,”

 

“His arm?” The Queen whispered, glaring at her good sister.

 

“He scraped it on the broken wood plank when he reached down to catch me, your Grace,” She explained. The Queen turned to her and glared briefly before turning back to Daenerys.

 

“Why wasn’t I informed?”

 

“Because the prince is fine,” Daenerys answered, “He wished to go with Aegon and his cousins to watch Lord Gendry teach Lord Rickon how to use a war hammer, not be coddled by his mother,” It seemed that Princess Daenerys had no qualms when it came to speaking with Lyanna. The Queen looked furious though.

 

“I am afraid that I will have to cut this afternoon short,” The Queen told them shortly, “My apologies, of course’

 

“None needed, your Grace. We understand completely,” Her mother, replied swiftly, “Come along girls, let us give your Aunt some space,” They left quickly after that.

 

Once they entered the corridor, she begged permission to visit the Godswood, under the guise of praying to the gods for having protected her. Her mother agreed, and she left with Lady. Arya went to watch the boys practicing in the yard.

 

When she got to the Godswood, she was unsurprised to see Jon sitting at the base of the heart tree, Ghost at his feet. There was a book in his grasp. She had known Daenerys was lying when she told the Queen where the prince was.

 

“Prince Jon” She greeted, curtsying as Ghost approached her. She scratched his ears and patted his fluffy white head.

 

“Lady Sansa” Jon stood, bowing, “Ghost seems to like you,”

 

“I am glad as I like him too,” She told him, “I am sorry to interrupt you, I will leave if it pleases you,”

 

“No, please, I wasn’t praying anyhow” He answered, “I was hiding from my mother. I am surprised she hasn’t found me yet,” He admitted with a sheepish look. 

 

“Well, I am afraid that she might find you soon. She was just informed of our little incident on the way back to the castle. Princess Daenerys sent her towards the training yard,”

 

“That took longer then I thought, actually. But if all goes according to plan, then Aegon will tell her I’ve adjourned to my chambers to bathe and rest before tonight’s feast, and hopefully she will not try to barge in to my empty chambers,”

 

“A good plan, your Grace” She told him, smiling at his well thought out game. It was nice to see that he was only playing at strategy in hiding from his mother, instead of hiding from Wildings or White Walkers.

 

“My mother is quite over protective, Lady Sansa, encase you hadn’t noticed it,”

 

“Tis a hard thing to not notice,” She admitted with a gentle smile, “But she means well, and that is what counts,’

 

“You speak very kindly of her when she has not been kind to you at all,” He spoke bluntly. She imagined it was well known that the Queen disliked her then. 

 

“Perhaps I was not worth being kind to, Prince Jon,” She answered lightly, “I am trying to be a better person then I was before, which is why I’m here actually, I wish to thank you,”

 

‘I do not deserve your thanks, Lady Sansa” He told her, turning his grey eyes away from her.

 

‘It is not your fault that I turned around, Prince Jon,” She told him, “I knew that I should have been looking at where I was stepping, but I was not. It is my own fault, and as such, I want to express how truly grateful I am,”

 

“Thank you for you kind words, Lady Sansa, but I cannot in good faith-’

 

“Are you refusing to accept my thanks?” She questioned, speaking above him, “And insisting on taking the fault for what occurred?”

 

“Yes” He answered bluntly, “I am,”

 

“Then as retribution I have a favor to request of you, your Grace,” She told him.

 

“Anything, my lady,” He told her solemnly.

 

“As of yet, I am without a partner for the first set at my sister’s wedding,” She told him slowly, hinting.

 

“If you’re asking me to speak to Aegon on your behalf, it is not necessary, he would be honored too,”

 

“I’m not asking that. If I wished to dance with Prince Aegon, I would ask him myself. I’m asking you to ask me, your Grace” She told him, watching, as his grey eyes got a bit confused in that adorable way they always had. He was as obtuse as ever. She watched as the realization hit him.

 

“You wish to dance with me, Lady Sansa?”

 

‘Are you that dreadful of a dancer, Prince Jon?” She questioned with a laugh, “Should I not wish to dance with you? Are my toes in perilous danger?” She teased.

 

“No, Aegon is far more dreadful then I, but I am surprised,” He admitted, “Most ladies wish to dance with Aegon before I,”

 

“I am not most ladies, Prince Jon,”

 

“No, you are apparently not, Lady Sansa,” He told her, shaking his head, “Lady Sansa, would you do me the great honor of the first dance at Lady Arya’s wedding?” He questioned. Finally, she thought.

 

“It would be my pleasure, Prince Jon,”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've thought long and hard about how to integrate Lyanna and Rhaegar's story into this, but I can't. It's something that the old Sansa would have known, and is sort of a taboo in the family, so it won't be brought up in casual conversation. So I'm going to add it in as an extra as Ned's POV. I'm halfway done with it all, so it should be the next update, just a warning. 
> 
> Thanks for reading this, you guys are awesome!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry this took so long to post! Unfortuantely my university classes are kicking my butt as the semester winds down, so updates will be at the very least weekly (they might be sooner but I don't want to overly disappoint)
> 
> I'm still working on the Lyanna and Rheagar interlude, but enjoy your first glimpse at some familiar faces in this new chapter! Thanks for reading:)

The next morning after breaking her fast with her sister, they were informed that the Tully’s and the Arryn’s would arrive in the morning, the Lannister’s and the Tyrell’s by midday, and the Martell’s just before the feast. Arya groaned and grouched about being tied into yet another dress. She tried her best to be empathetic towards her plight but her own mind was plagued with worry. The entire realm arrived today. She would see what had become of those that she really did not wish to know of, mainly Joffrey. He was better off dead in the past realm then alive in this one. 

 

“It’s never ending!” Arya ranted, pulling at the laces and adjusting the bodice of her pale silver gown, “Today’s it’s a welcome feast, tomorrow will be the tourney feast, then the breakfast feast before the wedding, and then the after feast,” Her loud, impatient grouching drew her out of her own thoughts. She stilled Arya's tiny hands and smoothed down the laces she had pulled out of place, tying it in a simple bow.

 

“And then the wedding of course, which you’ll have to wear another gown,” She reminded her with a grin

 

“Exactly!” Arya exclaimed, shooing her hands away “After this I’m never wearing a gown again, and no one can force me to,”

 

“If it helps, I think you look quite beautiful, sister” She told her, fixing a piece of hair that had fallen loose from her pins. 

 

“I don’t see why it matters, they are all family anyhow,” Arya continued, “No one cares if I wear a gown or not, I’m not trying to impress anyone, I’ve already got Gendry,”

 

“Breathe, Arya,” She cautioned her sister, “Just breathe,”

 

“Easy for you to say,” Arya mumbled, “We’ve switched roles, Sansa. You get to hide out in the Godswood and carry daggers and wear breeches,”

 

“I’m wearing a gown, Arya,” She pointed out. She had a pale pink dress on today. It was one of her Northern style tie dresses. It was the comfiest of the lot, and it made her skin seem smoother. It also had the perfect place to securely hide her new dagger. She would carry it with her now that everyone else was arriving, not that she thought she would need it. This realm seemed to live in a time of peace, complete and utter peace. There was no talk of war or fueding between houses. She had even heard her father remark about how he wished to speak with Mace Tyrell on growing apples in the North. 

 

“You know what I mean,” Arya huffed.

 

“Relax, in three days it will be over and done. You’ll be on a boat to your honeymoon with a husband at your side” She told her, patting her cheek. Arya sighed but nodded. Three days seemed entirely too short for her liking actually. She needed more time. She had confirmed that after Arya and Gendry left, she and her family would stay another two nights before heading back to the North. She had not heard anything about the royal family or their plan. She supposed it would be quite easy for them to just hop on their dragons and fly back to the capital, but the guard would need time to make it back to the city. 

 

“Three days” Arya murmured like a prayer, “I can handle that I suppose,”

 

“You’re a Stark of Winterfell, a wolf, three measly days in a gown are nothing,”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Once again they all lined up to greet the Tully’s and the Arryn’s in the front courtyard. Her mother seemed excited to see her family. She hoped for her mother's sake that her aunt Lysa had turned our more sane in this realm. Their newly arrived guests greeted the royal family first, then the Baratheon’s, and then the rest of them. Her grandfather Hoster seemed to be in good health, and their Uncle Edmure appeared as he had in the past life, only without the Frey wife on his arm. He was apparently still unmarried. She learned that the Blackfish was at Riverrun, holding down the fort for them. She had met her great uncle only once in the past realm. He was on his death bed in Riverrun by the time they reached him. He had thought she was her mother, back to her normal self, and she let him think that until he drifted away. 

 

She was beyond pleased and relieved to find that Lady Lysa was still married to Lord Jon and that they apparently had two children. She recognized Robin as the eldest, though he wasn’t as sickly looking as he had been, and then a younger boy, who appeared equally healthy. She was glad for it. The little one's name was Whent, no doubt for her grandmother, who had been a Whent. He looked to be around three, perhaps four. Her mother fawned over him, pinching his chubby pink cheeks. Even her father picked the lad up, swinging him around like he used to do with Rickon.

 

Of course, Rickon and Robin took to each other immediately, and the two little boys set off to play while the rest of the travel party excused themselves to rest up and freshen up.It had been a long trip. 

 

Everyone else milled around for a bit before Robb and Aegon decided to practice in the yard, which the rest of the boys agreed to do as well. Arya skipped out with them, leaving her alone with her mother, the Queen, and the two princesses.

 

“I believe that I will watch them practice, perhaps teach them a thing or two,” Princess Daenerys announced, “Should you like to join me, Lady Sansa? Rhaenys?” She waited for the princess to answer, which she agreed, before she agreed as well.

 

“Lya? Lady Catelyn?” Daenerys questioned.

 

“No, thank you, princess” Her mother replied after the Queen turned her down as well. The two older women would spend the afternoon doing something else. They were dismissed, and they walked to the training yard together.

 

“Sansa, watch out!” Rickon raced past her, Robin not far on his heels. Shaggy was chasing behind them, nipping playfully. She smiled as they blurred past her.

 

“Be careful, Rickon!” She called as he slid around a corner, nearly falling. To her surprise, Robin didn’t slide. He wasn’t ill in this realm. It made her smile fondly. He was smiling and acting, as a child should, not whining or shaking. His hair was cut like a normal little boy's should be and he was not dragging a blanket behind him.Shaggy growled, and peels of laughter rang out. Princess Daenerys smiled fondly, while Princess Rhaenys was tight lipped.

 

“I miss having children that young in the castle,” Princess Daenerys spoke fondly, “In Essos, there were so many children running around everywhere. No one in the castle has children that young though. Everyone is of marrying age or already married. You needs get moving, Rhae, I want a great niece to spoil,”

 

“Mayhap you should marry and have one of your own,” Rhaenys bit back, “For I am in no rush to have children, Aunt,” The aunt was more of a hiss then words. Daenerys looked unconcerned though.

 

‘Then I shall pressure Aegon to pick a girl,” She told her with a shrug, “God knows Lya is never going to give Jon up without a fight,”

 

“Not now that Lady Arya is to be wed at least,” Princess Rhaenys added, looking more interested in the conversation now. She looked almost excited over something, “Though I bet Lord Mace will try to encourage his daughter to go for it, and your know Arianne is still unwed,” The two princesses laughed at Rhaeyns suggestion.

 

“So many single nobles,” Daenerys sighed as she caught her breath, “What say you, Lady Sansa? Who would you like to wed out of the lot of them? Aegon is quite the catch, and heir, but he has many suitors for his hand and has always been quite multifocal. The Lannister boy is said to have the looks of his father but not the skill, and then their are the two Tyrell’s that are yet married,”

 

“Well I shall cross Loras Tyrell out first,” She told them, “For he is much more suited to Lord Renly then I,” They both raised their brows as she continued, “But I know not because I do not know any of them that well. When and if I marry, it shall be for love, not for gain. My sister loves Gendry, and my parents love each other. I want that,’

 

“Not all marriages are made out of love, Lady Sansa,” Princess Rhaenys told her, “Most are political, love comes later,”

 

“Then I will die a young maid,” She told her, “For I would die before I was forced to marry someone against my will,”   _Again,_ she added silently. 

 

“I heard such things about you, Lady Sansa, that I was dreading having to be in your company. I must say though, I rather like you,” Daenerys told her with a laugh, “If it comes to that, you can go east with me instead of wasting a perfectly pretty face,"

 

“Thank you, Princess,” She murmured, “I shall admit that what you heard was mostly true though I am trying to change for the better,”

 

“And that is what matters,” The Princess told her with a friendly smile, “Come now, we can go watch them kill each other,” She linked her arm through hers and Rhaeyns, tugging them down the corridor like they had been the best of friends for ages. 

 

“Just wait until tomorrow at the tourney,” Princess Rhaenys spoke softly,  “I wonder who will wear whose favor,” She commented.

 

“And who will you give yours to, Princess?” She questioned as they approached the training yard.

 

“My betrothed, I suppose,” She shrugged, unconcerned “It is just a ribbon,”

 

“And you, Princess Daenerys?” She questioned.

 

“A nephew perhaps. Whoever doesn’t get a favor from a pretty lady,” She told her with a knowing smile, “And who shall you give you favor to, Lady Sansa?”

 

“Whoever asks first,” She told them with a smile.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

They watched the boys spar for an hour or so. They were all so evenly matched that it was a long while before anyone truly won one of their mock tourney fights. Aegon sliced a line through Robb's leathers. Her brother was many things, but a graceful loser was not one of them. They left before it got ugly, and went back inside for tea with the Queen and her mother, along with Aunt Lysa. Arya grumbled as Lady Lysa fawned over her, presenting her with a beautiful Tully colored cloak.

 

“You may not look like a Tully, but our blood is your blood,” Her Aunt told her seriously. Arya thanked her sincerely; no doubt glad not to have received another Baratheon themed gift. It quelled her grouching for a little bit as they discussed flowers and lace and all other wedding aspects.  They drank their tea and ate some scones and then the next family arrival was announced via herald. Her heart was pounding, wait to see who the herald announced. She let out a harsh breath when she heard the name. The Tyrell’s had arrived. 

 

Clad in green and gold, the Reach party brought forth wagons full to the brim of delicious looking fruit and beautiful yellow and black flowers as a gift. Lord Mace was as obtuse as ever, being overly familiar in his greeting, though only her mother and the Queen seemed to mind. Lady Allerie was a pale woman that had none of the beauty her daughter held. She had forgotten what the woman looked like in the past life. She wasn't even sure if they had met though she assumed Lady Allerie must have been at the wedding.

 

Lord Willas did not have a limp as far as she could see. He was nearly as attractive of Loras, who was already making eyes at Renly. Ser Garlan was not present. 

 

Lady Margaery however was. She was as beautiful in this realm as she had been in the other, and her eyes were just as sharp. She smiled prettily as she greeted the princes, and the rest of the royal party. She smiled pretty for Gendry, and for Robb, but her smile turned tight as she greeted the rest.

 

“Lady Sansa, my dearest friend, you look lovely as ever,” She crooned, kissing her cheeks. 

 

“As do you, my dear,” She murmured, repeating the gesture.  

 

The Reach party was escorted to their chambers to freshen up. Margaery requested that she meet her in the sept in a half hour. She hesitated for a moment, before she agreed.

 

She freshened up in her own chambers before heading towards the sept to speak with Margaery. She had no idea what to expect. Clearly she and Margaery had been friends in this realm, but if Margaery was the same in this realm as she had been in the past, she wasn’t sure she wanted to be her friend.

 

She found her in the corridor, heading towards the sept. She was dressed in a clean, lower cut dress. It was turquoise and gold. Margaery looked stunning in it.

 

“There you are!” Margaery exclaimed, “What are you wearing? You look like a child in that gown,” She scolded, picking at the pale pink fabric. She swatted her hand away.

 

“It is called modesty. Perhaps you should try it sometime,” She remarked dryly, picking at the thin strap of Margaery’s gown. The Reach girl just smiled and shook her head.

 

“You act so Northern sometimes,” She told her flippantly.

 

“Perhaps because I am Northern,” She retorted.

 

“Who are you and what have you done with my friend? First you don't reply to my last letter, and now you act as if you don't even want to know me. Well, dearest pen pal of mind, I don't give up too easily” Margaery laughed, “So, how goes your plan?” Margaery questioned as she tucked her arm under hers and continued walking.

 

“What plan?” She questioned lightly. She had no idea what the plan was. Knowing her past attitude, it was probably a bad plan, a Cersei Lannister type plan. She shuddered.

 

‘Do not play coy with me, dear,” Margaery smiled viciously, “You know exactly what I am speaking of. Have you secured the first dance with Prince Aegon?”

 

“I have decided to forgo the plan as it was a horrible idea in the first place,” She told her, guessing that it had something to do with Aegon if she had been planning to dance the first set with him, “And no, Prince Aegon will not be my first dance,”

 

“Oh?” Margaery quirked a brow, “Then who shall?”

 

“My cousin, Prince Jon,”

 

“You’re going to dance the first set with Prince Jaemon?” Margaery made a noise somewhere between a disbelief and disgust, “He is so boring and serious, Sansa. Not to mention that Aegon is much more comely. How in the name of the seven did you get tricked into that?”

 

“I was tricked into nothing,’ She retorted, turning her nose at her so called friend. She was angry that Margaery had spoken so ill of Jon, angry that she had probably spoken ill of him as well in this realm, “And you would do well not to speak of him as such,”

 

“Ta! You’ve been tricked somehow, I will figure it out,” Margaery laughed, “But then I suppose Prince Aegon is unengaged for the first set?” Margaery questioned slyly. Of course she stilled wanted to be a Queen.

 

“As far as I know, yes” She answered shortly, “Though there are many other eligible dance partners to be had,” 

 

“Your brother being one,” Margaery grinned again, “I do miss him. I enjoyed our short week together in the Riverlands. I believe your grandfather told me how becoming I looked on Robb's arm. I do hope they throw another tourney soon. Perhaps for a different sort of joyous event. How fun would that be, my dear? We would be sisters,”

 

“Do not toy with my brother, Margaery,” She warned quietly. Margaery laughed loudly, throwing her head back. 

 

“Mayhap I shall set my sights on Prince Jaemon. Obviously you know something that I don’t about him,” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively, “What say you to a bit of healthy competition, my friend? May the best win,”

 

“It is not a game, Margaery,” She hissed. She was beyond fed up with this. She hated it. It was like she was back in King’s Landing, struggling to keep up with Cersei and Margaery. She knew more then Margaery ever did about playing the game, but she didn’t want to play it anymore. She was supposed to be free of that, “Life is not a game,”

 

“Everything is a game, Sansa, don’t be naïve,” Margaery told her, her voice colder now, “Everyone plays, and everyone plays to win,”

 

“And what does winning get you, Margaery?” She questioned, “A crown? An unhappy marriage?”

 

“It gets you power,” Margaery answered, “It gets you the satisfaction of knowing that you won above everyone else,”

 

“Then I wish you luck in your games, but I will no longer be a player,’ She told her, pulling her hand away from her, “If you would excuse me, I have family that I wish to spend time with over this scheming ridiculousness you’ve subjected me too,”

 

“Do not presume to act so high and mighty, Sansa,” Margaery hissed, her eyes angry, “I know you, and I know your game. It's why we were such fast friend after only meeting a few times in Riverrun. We're the same, dear.  If you’re after Prince Jaemon, there’s something you’re hiding. I will find out what it is. In the meantime, I look forward to getting to know the younger Prince. Perhaps I could teach him a thing or two,”

 

“Stay away from him, Margaery,” She warned, “Stay away from him and my brothers,”

 

“Like you stayed away from Prince Aegon when I claimed him first?” Margaery questioned coldly.

 

“You cannot claim a person, Margaery, they are not prizes to be won,”

 

“Exactly,” Margaery answered turning away and leaving her in the corridor. She was seething. She couldn’t believe she had let Margaery get to her like that. It was embarrassing. At least she knew how she and Margaery had met though. A tourney in Riverrun recently apparently. She had wondered where she had met her when she had been greeted so warmly. It was a small bit of the past her that she now knew. 

 

She sighed in anger and turned on her heel.

 

She had made it a few steps when she heard the telltale tinkle of Margaery’s flirtatious laughter. It was the same in this realm as it had been in the past. She turned the corner to find Margaery standing before her brother, Loras Tyrell, Prince Aegon, and Jon.

 

“Sansa” Robb met her gaze and beckoned her closer. She glared openly at Margaery as she approached, though the elder girl just smiled falsely.

 

“Brother,” She nodded, “Your Graces, Lord Loras,” She curtsied.

 

“Lady Sansa, a pleasure as always,” Loras kissed her hand. She smiled politely as he did so. 

 

“The pleasure is mine, my lord,” She murmured, “And where are the four of you headed?” She questioned. They were dressed too finely for training, and she knew that Jon, Aegon, and Robb had already practiced that morning.

 

“We are going to show Ser Loras the dragons,” Robb told her, excited like a child. She had no doubt that Robb wished to see them as well.

 

“And was Ser Loras the only one that wished to see the dragons, brother?” She teased, “Be careful. Arya would be most disappointed if you were burnt to a crisp before her wedding,”

 

“I will not let him burn, my lady” Prince Aegon told her, “I assure you that no one has ever gotten burnt by one of our dragons without our command,”

 

“That is comforting, prince Aegon, but the dragons are still quite intimidating. You best be careful as well, Loras” Margaery chimed in, no doubt resenting her removal from the conversation.

 

“A little fire is not going to intimidate me, Maggie,” Loras teased, grinning at his little sister. Ironic, since Loras Tyrell perished in agonizing pain from oil burns in the past realm. Or at least that was what Stannis had told her when she inquired.

 

“You are a flower amongst two dragons and a wolf, brother. You are not nearly as intimidating as you believe,”

 

“Prince Jaemon is as much a dragon as he is a wolf,” She told her bluntly. Jon wasn’t just a dragon. He was a wolf as well. She wouldn’t let Margaery forget that, “And everyone knows that wolves are better then dragons, right brother?” She questioned.

 

“Of course,” Robb answered matter of factly.

 

‘My dragon could eat your wolf in one bite,” Prince Aegon bit back at his friends, “That grey mutt would stand no chance against Meraxes,”

 

“No, Greywind is more intelligent then that. He would be impossible for your oversized scaly housecat to even find,” 

 

“You have both, cousin. What say you?” Robb questioned, looking to settle their little battle between the species.

 

“Onos is a powerful, dangerous creature that I would trust to eliminate my enemies and protect me, with my guidance and signals. Ghost on the other hand, I would trust to protect my life before even I knew it was in danger. He senses things better then Onos, though I am bonded with both of them,” Jon answered.

 

“Onos” She murmured, “Light in Valayrian, yes?”

 

“You speak Valayrian now, dear?” Margaery questioned, brow quirked. She hadn’t spoke Valayrian in her previous life, at least, not until she went to the Vale. Petyr taught her Valayrian and Braavosi. She knew a bit of the Old Tongue from Old Nan.

 

“A bit,” She answered demurely, “Not well though,”

 

‘You are correct though. Onos means light in Valayrian. He named the dragon after his light scale color,” Aegon told them, a gleeful smile on his handsome face. 

 

“I was four” Jon protested.

 

“And you were ten and three when you named Ghost,” Aegon pointed out, “What is your excuse for that one, brother?”

 

‘I was original. Meraxes and Baelerion. You and Rhaenys had no creativity,” Jon retorted back. “At least I didn’t name mine after myself like Viserion was named,”

 

“Or Rhaegal,” Aegon added, “And who knows why Dany named Drogon. We believe she meant to name is quite literally, Dragon, but misspelled it on the ledger. She was pretty old by the time he hatched and bonded to her though, so it’s a mystery,”

 

“When was that?” She questioned.

 

“He hatched while she was in Essos, maybe three or four years ago. I believe she was thirteen. She had been given other dragons eggs over the years, but none of them bonded with her, and most never even hatched properly. Dragon eggs are extremely finicky”

 

“How old were you when you bonded with your dragon, your Grace?” She questioned. Jon had bonded at the age of four apparently. It seemed awfully young.

 

“I was five,” Aegon retorted.

 

“Onos and Meraxes are brothers,” Jon told her. So the two dragons had bonded with the brothers on the same day.

 

“Enough about the history of dragons and Targaryen’s though. Let us go see one for ourselves. Will you be joining us, my ladies?”

 

“We thank you, Prince Aegon. I think that would be a lovely idea, wouldn’t it, Sansa?”

 

‘A lovely idea indeed,’ She murmured as Margaery took her arm. She walked with her “friend” down the hall, hating the way they were arm and arm. When they reached the side of the castle, where a large empty field lay, she broke away from Margaery, distancing herself a foot from the elder girl. 

 

Both Jon and Aegon stepped forward into the open field. Aegon put his fingers to his mouth and an ear-shattering whistle came forth. Everyone winced, including Jon. Aegon grinned though, and a second later, wings on wind were heard. She looked up to see a dragon circling them.

 

“Which one is it, your Grace?” Margaery questioned.

 

“Tis Onos,” Aegon muttered.

 

“I told you he was faster then Meraxes” Jon told his elder brother as he whistled again. The dragon came down quickly, at an angle. It was a lot larger up close then in the sky above them.

 

It landed on light feet, whipping its tail around as his massive wings folded in upon each other. Jon stepped forward, patting the beast’s scaled head. It appeared to nuzzle into him. Smoke steamed from his nostrils.

 

“Step forward, now” Aegon called jovially, like a circus master, “Who will be the first to have the strength to pat the blazon beast? A golden dragon to the winner!” He called. She could see Jon shaking his head at the antics of his brother.

 

“No chance in hell! Last time you did this I lost my eyebrows!” Robb called back, staying a good distance from the dragon, though he watched it carefully, drinking it in. Margaery and Loras looked on in awe, watching as the dragon continuously breathed smoke from his nose. 

 

Loras stepped forward first. The dragon turned from Jon to regard the new person stepping into his zone. It opened it’s mouth, and a lizard like tongue snaked out. Loras gulped and took another step forward. The dragon turned even further, far enough then when it huffed out a breath, Loras was met with smoky dragon breath. He took several steps back.

 

“I think I’ll observe from here, your graces!” He called back.

  
“Lady Margaery? Lady Sansa? Have you any bravery?”

 

“I have intelligence, your Grace, and common sense,” Margaery replied, “And neither would advise me to step any closer to a living, breathing dragon,” Aegon chuckled and looked to her.

 

“Lady Sansa? I know how much you love a good wager,” He teased. She squared her shoulders and smiled back at him as she took a deliberate step forward.

 

“Sansa” Robb called, “Do not be foolish,”

 

“I’m not,” She told him, “The dragon won’t hurt me,” She convinced herself as she took another step forward. The dragon was watching her with curious red eyes. It made no move to get closer to her though. She took another step. Aegon was standing by the dragon’s swishing tail, but Jon was by the head. She was making her way towards him. Step after step, she got closer and closer.

 

“Lady Sansa, you needn’t go any further. You’ve made your point, and won the wager. No one has ever gotten this close to Onos that wasn’t family,” Prince Aegon told her,a bit of panic tinging his tone, “I really do not wish to deal with your father if you get burnt,” He added.

 

She didn’t reply. She just kept walking to Jon, slowly and steadily. The dragon was watching her still, his head cocked to the side like Ghost sometimes did. Jon was murmuring to the beast, patting his head.

 

“He is magnificent,” She told Jon when she was close enough to him, barely a foot or two away. 

 

“Do you have a death wish, my lady?” He questioned with a grin as she stepped even closer to the dragon. She could feel the thick waves of heat radiating from the beast.

 

‘You would not let him hurt me, Prince Jon” She told him as she hesitantly reached a hand out, intent on touching the dragon. Jon’s hand caught hers first though.

 

“He likes to petted here,” He told her, moving her hand closer to where he had been petting Onos. His hand was nearly as warm as the dragon scales. He covered her hand with his, showing her the way to pat him lightly, so that she didn’t get burnt. To her surprise, the dragon closed his eyes as they petted him, smoke billowing from his nostrils, “It means he’s content,”

  
“Like a purring cat,” She told him aloud.

 

“Yes, he is quite like a cat. Finicky one moment, and loving the next,” Jon told her as he brought her hand back up the warm scales, “He also loves to sleep in the sunlight though he is a poor mouser,”

 

“I am sure he has bigger game to hunt,” She commented, enjoying the feel of his hand against hers as he continued to aid her in petting the wild animal. 

 

“He is trained not to hunt unless instructed,” He told her seriously, “We keep them all well fed to avoid perilous mistakes,”

 

“But you allow Ghost to hunt, yes?”

 

“Ghost knows not to slaughter an entire village for dinner,” Jon told her, “The dragons are trained, yes, but they are still wild in a sense. It is difficult to explain. Ghost is more moral, I suppose, though they all just animals,”

 

“No, I understand it,” She told him. There was something so human about the direwolves. She had seen it. They were like an extension of their human bond mates. She wondered briefly if Jon could warg into the dragon like he had been able to do with Ghost, or if he even knew that he could do it with Ghost at all in this realm.

 

‘I forget you have the same bond with your wolf as I have with mine,” He told her, “You understand if completely, don’t you?”

 

“More then you know,” She answered. His brows rose as he considered what she meant. Did he realize she was speaking of warging? She hoped that he did. She turned when she heard Robb and Aegon calling their names, motioning them t o step away from the dragon. Jon patted his head once more before stepping away.

 

“Henujagon” Jon told the dragon. She knew that it meant to leave. The dragon expanded his wings, and a second later; it was soaring high above them, wind ruffling their hair and clothing. Her dress tangled around her ankles as her hair blocked her eyes. Jon chuckled as the dragon disappeared with a loud shriek.

 

‘I think he liked you” Jon told her as he offered his elbow to her as they walked back to the others. She tucked her hand into his arm and nodded.

 

“I think he thought I would make a poor dinner,” She commented. Jon laughed. They walked towards the others. Robb berated her for being reckless while Jon questioned why they were called back to them. Her heart stopped as Prince Aegon spoke the words she least wanted to hear.

 

"The Lannister's have arrived,"

 


	13. Chapter 13

She had little time to worry herself over who had arrived. The Lannister's had arrived later then anticipated and the Martell's earlier. The King, her father, and Lord Robert met them graciously while everyone else ran around madly trying to ready themselves in time for the feast. Her maid was waiting with a steaming bath of lavender water when Robb left her at the door to her chamber's. The girl wasted no time in stripping her out of her gown and urging her into the hot water. She was scrubbed and polished like a shoe before being lathered in oils and set before the fire to dry while her maid fixed the creases in her gown.

 

It was a beautiful gown, one she had considered wearing to Arya's wedding in fact. It was the blue color of her mother’s house, and made her eyes look brighter. It was very southern, but she had to admit that it looked good on her. Her hair was plaited in a coronet across the top of her scalp while the rest hung down in freshly washed curls. A few minutes after her maid had finished, Arya waltzed into the room without even knocking. She wore a light grey, nearly white, gown. Her hair hung straight, curling slightly at the ends. She had inherited her father's straight hair along with all of the other Stark attributes. She wore a circlet of winter roses around her head though she picked at them as if they bothered her.

 

“Aunt Lya made it for me, demanded that I wore it,” Arya told her dramatically when she noticed her checking the crown out, “I think the roses suit you better, honestly,”

 

“I was told not to wear roses tonight,” She told her sister, pulling her sleeve over her leather bracelet. It was a habit she had developed in this new realm. It gave her strength. “You look beautiful though, Arya. The roses suit you perfectly,”

 

“They match your eyes better and make your hair seem redder,” Arya told her with a shrug. It was what her mother had huffed about when she told her that Queen had requested that she not wear the blue flowers tonight. It was a strange request, but her Aunt was the Queen, “They just make me look like Aunt Lya. Though I suppose I am lucky to be wearing my house colors tonight and not Gendry’s,”

 

“His colors will be your colors soon enough,” She reminded her. Arya shrugged.

 

“The black is fine but the yellow gold is dreadful,” Arya uttered, “At least black can hide the dirt stains,”

 

“You had better not have any dirt stains on your gowns, Arya,” Her mother interrupted, entering her chambers without warning just as Arya had done. Her family had no respect for her privacy it seemed. It was a trivial thing, something she had bemoaned in the past realm. She smiled at it now though. She would never care about it again. Her mother carried two velvet boxes with her, jewelry for Arya no doubt.

 

“I was jesting, mother,” Arya retorted, glumly sitting upon her bed as her mother placed the boxes on her vanity table. Lady sniffed Arya delicately before resuming her nap atop the feather bed. Arya absently scratched her ears, causing Lady to lean in further, nuzzling against the warm hand that paid her attention, "Nymeria would bite my hand off if I tried this, not to mention the dirt she would track onto my bed," Arya commented as their mother set up the boxes.

 

“Wolves do not belong in beds,” Her mother murmured, opening the top box, “This is a Stark family heirloom, Arya, it is to be worn very carefully. It is centuries old,” She told her as she pulled the necklace from the box with gentle hands. It was a steel choker, inlaid with grey diamonds, which were extremely rare. The necklace was only brought out for big occasions though it was never worn on the actual wedding day. Her father had brought it to the capital with them in the beginning. He had told her that she could wear it when their betrothal was announced. She never got to wear it and she never knew what had become of it in the old world, but it brought her joy to see it now.

 

“It looks dreadfully heavy,” Arya whispered as her mother unclasped it. She chuckled when she noticed her mother hadn’t heard Arya’s whisper. She finished preparing it, wiping an invisible smudge away with a velvet cloth, and brought it over, laying it carefully against Arya’s neck. It took several seconds to fasten the multiple closers on the steel piece.

 

“There, isn’t it lovely?” Her mother questioned, drawing back to admire it against Arya’s pale northern skin.

 

“It is quite becoming on you, sister,” She told Arya as her younger sister picked at it. She left a finger print smudge on the steel portion, which her mother wiped away after batting Arya's oily fingers further from the priceless heirloom. It was probably grease or polishing oil on Arya's hands. She enjoyed spending time in the forge though her father had requested that she refrain from doing so until the two were actually married. 

 

“I suppose it is pretty fierce,” Arya muttered, “But it’s so heavy and prickly,”

 

“All Stark maidens have worn this at some point before their wedding, Arya,” Her mother told her seriously, “It was never mine to wear, only to give to you for tonight. Wear it with pride, make your father proud of you,”

 

“Of course, mother,” Arya dutifully replied.

 

“Good girl,” Her mother smoothed a lock of her dark hair, “And for you, Sansa love,” Her mother picked up the other box and propped it open. It was a pristine white velvet choker with a sapphire in the middle. There were two smaller sapphires on the sides of the larger one, “Your grandfather gave it to me when I turned sixteen. I promised to give it to my daughter on her sixteenth nameday. Yours was a few moons ago, but I was saving it for you to have somewhere to where it to,”

 

“It is beautiful, mother, thank you,” She murmured as her mother helped secure it around her neck. It was heavy, yes, but she doubted it was as uncomfortable as Arya’s steel necklace. At least the velvet was smooth and warm against her skin. The steel was probably freezing cold.

 

“It looks beautiful with your eyes, dear,” Her mother told her sincerely, “Now, we are ready to make our entrance, are we not?”

 

“Yes, mother” They both replied.

 

Their father and brothers met them before they entered the great hall. She watched as her mother took her father's elbow with a loving smile, as her father leant over to whisper something to her mother, causing her to blush and slap his chest. Her father just grinned and adjusted his grip on her. Rickon picked at his velvet doublet while Bran tried to help him fix whatever problem he was having. Robb ended up stepping in and pulling Rickon's hands away before fixing his hair. Someone had slicked back Rickon's unruly curls. It was probably Robb as he sported the same look. It made them both appear older, more refined. She felt tears spring up as she looked them all over. Her whole family, healthy and alive. All of them older then their previous lives had the chance to live to.  All of them happy and here with her.

 

She was beyond lucky to have a second chance like this. 

 

"Are you refusing my escort, sister?" Robb was offering his elbow to her, smiling. It was their turn to enter the Dining Hall. Rickon and Bran had gone together in front of them because Arya would wait for Gendry to enter. Their parents would walk behind them. 

 

"Of course not, brother," She quipped, "For if I do not who ever will with a face like that?" She teased as she tucked her gloved hand into his elbow. He laughed, nudged her over as they walked down the path.  She felt nervous as she walked into the hall, the herald announcing their arrival. Her eyes danced around the room, searching for heads of golden blonde hair and cruel green eyes. There were too many though, everyone standing and watching them arrive. She spotted Margaery in the front, but that was all she recognized.

 

The Stark’s, the Baratheon’s, and the Targaryen’s were sitting at the head of the hall. The first two because of their uniting of their houses, and the Targaryen’s because they were the royal family. The rest of the high noble houses had been divided across the two long tables. As they got closer to the table, she was able to find more familiar faces.  She found the Martell’s first though. She recognized the dark skin and hair of the Dornish royals. Prince Oberyn, she assumed, was standing, watching them with intense dark eyes. Two younger lords stood with him,  Quentin and Trystane she thought they were called, at least in the old world. They smiled brightly at her. Princess Arianne was watching Robb. She was beautiful, in an exotic way.

 

From the Dornish group, her eyes went towards the right, landing on the first Lannister. She felt just the smallest bit of sadness as she took in Jaime Lannister, alive and with two hands. They were clasped before him as he watched the progression. His dress was gold and red, no trace of white. He looked slightly out of place without a sword at his side. He had not entered the Kingsguard it seemed. She felt no ill will towards him. In the end, he had died with honor and her respect. He had atoned for his sins.  His face was younger in this world, the face of the man she remembered meeting just before he kicked Bran from the highest tower, the face of a man that has not committed atrocious crimes.

 

She gripped Robb’s elbow hard when she noticed who was standing next to Jaime. She had nearly missed him. He looked the same as he had in the world before, and yet different. He still had the wormy lips, and a shock of Lannister blonde hair atop his head. He wore simple maroon adornments, nothing too gaudy or flashy. It was the eyes though, they threw her off. For while they were not eyes of a man she would ever trust or even like, they were not the evil green orbs that she had known in her past. He looked like an arrogant heir to a great noble house in this realm, instead of a monstrous king. 

 

Joffrey smiled at her, and while it made her skin crawl, it was not a cruel or suggestive smile. It was just a slightly uplifting of his lips, a twitch, and then he was back to looking at the progression behind them. Her breathing became a bit tight as she realized that these were not the same people in this realm, not really. They bore the same names and had the same look, but they were not the same people. Robb, Bran, and Rickon was not really her brothers, hers brother were dead. Her parents were dead.  Her entire life was gone, and this new realm was not the same as the last. Joffrey was proof of that.

 

Jon was not her Jon.

 

“Are you okay?” Robb whispered as they walked past him, towards their seat.

  
“Fine,” She whispered, trying to shake her realization away. They might not be the same people but they were still her family. At least she hadn’t seen Cersei yet. It was a small blessing. She would have hated to find herself watching a kind Cersei Lannister in this realm. She hated Joffrey Lannister for not being such an evil monster in this realm. She hated that she knew things were different, and that she could not pretend that they were not. She could not prosecute an innocent person for something they did in the previous realm. She hated it all at that moment, hated this new world that was so different but so similar, and hated the past world for failing her so unjustly. She had wanted two things from this new realm, to find her deceased loved ones and to enact justice that she had been deprived of in the past realm. But looking at Joffrey Lannister, who had barely spared her more then a passing glance, and she knew that she couldn't. These people had not yet hurt her or her family. 

 

"Sansa" Robb hissed, drawing out of her whirlwind of thoughts. She was going to go mad with it all. She was forced to smile then, watching as her parent’s entered behind them. It would have been incredibly rude to look away, though she did see Margaery in the crowd, along with her Aunt Lysa. They were sitting to the right of the table.

 

After her parent’s came the royal family. Since they were at Storm’s End, Robert would enter last, just before the couple. Everyone bowed as the King and Queen entered first, her family included. After, Princess Rhaenys came in escorted by both brothers, Aegon and Jon, and then Daenerys with a sour looking Viserys. She watch Jon though. He looked and acted so much like her Jon. Like Rickon, he picked at the velvet sleeves of his doublet, Princess Daenerys smoothing his hands away to his chagrin and Aegon's delight. Lya shot them a look but the King drew her back to attention. The Baratheon's were entering.

 

Lord Stannis came first with Shireen on his arm. She had never figured out what had happened to his wife. She was not around, that much was clear. The entire Baratheon family seemed to lack a female presence actually. Lord Renly walked out next, by himself. He smiled handsomely as he strode confidently down towards the head table. Lord Robert came bustling down the hall next, grinning and waving at the others like he himself was King. Rhaegar watched in amusement though, laughing at his cousin.

 

“Welcome and be welcome, lords and ladies of Westeros,” Robert bellowed out, “I am beyond thankful to all of you for coming to celebrate the marriage of my son, Gendry Edric Baratheon, to Lady Arya Minisa Stark of Winterfell. Please join me in welcoming the soon to be married couple for tonight's welcome feast,” He called.

 

Arya and Gendry entered then, both looking ill at ease at the applause and shouts. They walked down the aisle quickly, making a beeline for their seats. Arya plucked at her necklace while Gendry picked at the collar of his doublet. They made a good pair, she had to admit. Both were so ill at ease in this realm. She wondered if Arya had known the boy in the past realm. She liked to think that she did. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long, hope you liked it! Let me know what you think. I should update after the holiday if I have the time. There will be Sansa/Joff interact in the next chapter


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving! Enjoy

_“Friends, family, Mace Tyrell” Robert started off with, getting a laugh out of everyone in the Great Hall. Mace raised his glass in a toast, smiling in good nature at Robert’s jest, “I am afraid I have quite the long speech ahead. It seems I have thanks to give to all that have helped my son and I get here today. So to start, it is an honor and a privilege to have you all here with me tonight as we celebrate the marriage of my son, and the unification of two great houses. Long has the friendship between House Stark and House Baratheon been. It brings me great pleasure to see my only son marrying the daughter of a man I am lucky enough to call my friend, nay, my brother. As all of you know, my wife was taken from my son and I quite early in our life together. It is an event that shall forever haunt me, and one I would not wish upon my greatest foe,” She watched Arya grip Gendry’s hand, and wondered what had happened to the woman, “As Gendry grew up without his mother, I worried about the effect it would have on my son. What good was I in teaching a child how to be a lord? A man? If my own father had his way, Baratheon men would not speak or write, just toss a war hammer and grunt,” Laughter rang out at his words for they were true, “But I promised my wife, as she took her last breath, that I would raise a man she would be proud to call her son. Well, I can honestly say that I tried, Shaena,”_

 

Shaena. She knew that name from somewhere.

 

“ _I tried my best, but how could I teach a child how to write and read when such tasks put me to sleep?” Laughter again. Robert took another swig of his wine, “So I did what I thought Shaena would have wanted. I sent him to his family in the south, and thus begins my long list of thanks. To my good brother and cousin, the King, thank you for taking him in and telling him about his mother when I could not. To the princes’s and princess’s, thank you for treating him like a brother. To the Queen, thank you for introducing him to his future bride,”_

 

Shaena Targaryen, the second child of King Aerys and Queen Rhaella. She had been born still in the past realm she thought. Robert droned on with his thanks, listing maester’s and septa’s and swordsmen. No wonder Robert and Rhaegar were close in this realm. They were good brother’s and cousins. It explained much.

 

“ _I shall admit that I was surprised when I arrived in the capital after six months, expecting to find him playing the harp or reading poetry like his mother was always fond of, only to find him covered in soot in the forge, a small boy at his side, criticizing his every move. To my great surprise, the little boy turned out to be Lady Arya, who at ten and two, quite resembled a small boy child. Fortunately for Lady Arya, she has grown to resemble her aunt instead of her father, though I daresay she bests them both in swordplay,” Arya was glaring until the swordplay part, which brought a beaming smile to her face._

 

_“My speech has become quite long, has it not?” Robert shook his head, sighing, “Well, when my son finally plucked up the courage to ask Lady Arya to court her, I wasn’t sure his black eye would ever fade,” More laughter and Arya’s cheeks turning pink, “She apologized of course, and somehow the two ended up in a courtship of a most unconventional nature. I cannot tell you how many duels and trips to the forge Ned and I supervised. Instead of flowers, Lady Arya got metal gauntlets and a new pommel. Instead of a sweet ribbon as a favor for luck, my son got threats of injury should he get injured prior. But I can see the love that my son has for my future good daughter. I can see it in her eyes too. For a long time, I wished for my son the type of marriage that I had, but now I wish for even more. So to my son, I am proud of the man that you are today, and I know that your mother would be proud as well. And to my future good daughter, I know that Shaena would have loved you just as I do. So I wish you both many, many, long years, filled with adventure and happiness,”_

 

It was a beautiful toast she had to admit. She noticed the tears in the eyes of quite a few as they all lifted their goblets in a toast. Rhaegar, Robert, even her father were wet around the irises. Lord Robert then thanked everyone again for coming to Storm End’s, and then went on to announce the tourney in the morning and the events, and then declared the tourney prize, a huge amount of golden dragons, everyone cheered, the wine flowed freely, and the first course of several dozen was carried out.

 

She had been sitting next to Robb, with Bran to her other side, but in the middle of the fifth course, glazed smoked apples with cinnamon and honey, her elder brother disappeared. She shrugged it off and continued her conversation with Bran about the tourney and how he wished he could take part. Apparently he had to settle with being Robb’s squire.

 

Several more courses later, and Gendry and Arya were being pulled away from the duck and pheasant to start the first set of the night. If anyone noticed how they tripped and stepped on each others toes, no one mentioned it. There cheeks were both flushed with wide smiles stretched across, eye bright and merry. They looked so happy together.

 

She did not even notice that others were joining until a gentle hand tapped her on the shoulder. She turned from her conversation with Bran to face the person that sought her attention, and her heart stopped beating entirely.

 

“Lady Sansa, might I have the honor of dancing with you, tonight?” Joffrey questioned with a grin plastered across her face. It was a cocky grin, just a cocky grin. He even inclined his head to Bran, greeting him cordially. 

 

“My apologies, my lord,” She managed to murmur after a second of finding her voice, though it sounded hoarse “But I am afraid I took ill on the journey here, and am not quite recovered. It saddens me to say that I shall have to sit out on the dancing tonight,”

 

“Of course, my lady. Well wishes,” Joffrey told her with a sympathetic expression, “Perhaps at the next feast,” He suggested.

 

“Perhaps, my lord,” She replied. He bowed and walked away, leaving her with suspicious looking Bran.

 

“I thought you said you were well,” He accused.

 

“It is nothing that concerns you, Bran” She told her, swiping a sweet from his plate, “You should go ask Lady Shireen to dance. It is the lordly thing to do,” She advised. He grumbled a bit before he stood and made his way over to the young lady.

 

At this point, nearly everyone was dancing. She didn’t even see Jon at the table, and the adults save for Robert, were twirling around. The lord seemed lost in thought at the high table. Knowing what she knew now, she felt bad for the man. He had spoken so highly of his wife that she had little doubt of his true feelings. He had loved her.

  
“I hear you’ve taken ill, little dove,” The term startled her, but she relaxed an inch when she realized it was just Margaery,and not Cersei Lannister herself, “Turning down Joffrey, what a shame,”

 

“I have a headache, Margaery. Please do not make it worse,” She hissed, turning to find the other girl sitting in Bran’s abandoned seat, a predatory smirk on her sharp features. She wore a dark green dress with golden trim. It was very becoming on her.

 

“I wouldn’t dare,” Margaery, replied with another smile, “I have many dances to attend to after all. With your dance card empty for the night, there are many boys for me to entertain, love,” She patted her hand once before dashing off with a short laugh. 

 

She picked up her goblet of arbor gold and watched as they danced before her. She recognized a few faces, and some she didn’t. She saw Robb twirl around with someone that looked suspiciously like Myrcella, but they were there one second and gone the next. She did not see Cersei though, and Joff appeared preoccupied with Margaery. Arya was dancing with Robert now, and Gendry was dancing with her mother. Her father was dancing with his sister, and the King was dancing with Princess Arianne. Prince Aegon was dancing with Daenerys, Rhaenys with her betrothed who was a Martell by the coloring, Quentin perhaps or Trystane though she couldn’t recall which was which, and Viserys had left after the sixth course. Bran and Shireen had given up dancing and were playing with Rickon, Robin, and Whent at an abandoned table. She looked around for Jon, but she couldn’t see him. Margaery was with Joff though, so she wasn’t worried about that at the moment.

 

“I hear that you are not dancing tonight, my lady,” Just as she was thinking about where he could have gotten to, Jon took the seat next to her, a goblet of his own in his hand, “I do hope that you will be recovered enough to dance the first set you so painstakingly secured with me in two days,”

 

“I wouldn’t dream of missing it, your Grace,” She told him with a smile as he smiled back at her. He looked quite dashing in his black and red velvet doublet, complete with a silver circlet around his dark curls.

 

“Lord Joffrey was telling everyone that you still felt ill. Are you alright?” He questioned, a more serious note in his tone.

 

“I am fine, your Grace. Thank you,” She told him; “Though I think I could use some air,” She smiled as he immediately stood back up, offering her his arm. She knew that he would. He was polite to a fault though he was more fluid in his actions in this realm. He had always been honorable. That hadn’t changed.

 

He led her towards the balcony, the one that overlooked the bay beneath them. The cold ocean air assaulted them as they slipped out of the lively room, folding themselves through a thick throng of people. 

 

“May I tell you a secret, your Grace?” She questioned as they watched the waves break before them, splashing water high into the sky. She could nearly feel the mist against her face, “I did not wish to dance with Lord Joffrey,” She whispered.

 

“You forsook all future dances to avoid one with him?” He questioned curiously, dark brow raised.

 

“He gives me a bad feeling, Prince Jon,” She told him, “An uneasy feeling,”

 

“I know what you mean,” He told her, “His grandfather gives me the same feeling,”

 

“I noticed his absence,” She commented idly, wondering where the Old Lion was, “Was he indisposed?”

 

“He has taken ill, yes. Lady Cersei stayed behind in the West with him, along with the youngest two children,” Jon informed her with a shrug, “My mother saw it as an insult but father considers it a blessing. Lady Cersei has her eyes on a marriage between Lady Myrcella and Aegon or I,” He admitted.

 

“She is a quiet young though,”

 

“She is, yes,” He nodded, “But younger matches have been seen. Rhaenys betrothed is several years her junior, and Gendry is several years older then Arya,”

 

“I suppose that is true,” She agreed, “But Arya and Gendry truly care for each other,”

 

“They do, and for that, I am glad,” Jon told her, “I suppose it was never a secret that my mother wished for a betrothal between Arya and I but she is a little sister to me, nothing more,”

 

“I am sure Lord Gendry is thankful to that, your Grace,” She told him. He looked surprised at her comment, but then chuckled, nodding his head.

 

“I suppose Baratheon and Targaryen’s will always be fighting over the hand of a Stark,” He mused, “Tis only fair a Baratheon win this time,”

 

“Tis only fair,” She echoed. Inside, the music changed. She smiled faintly as the first chords drifted through the semi open door. She had loved this song in the past realm. It was soft and sweet, a good song to dance to.

 

“May I have this dance, my lady?” Jon questioned, holding out his gloved hand for her to take. She curtsied and accepted his hand. She could feel the heat burning through even though he wore gloves. His other hand went to her waist, holding her close as he effortlessly began the proper steps. He had been a dreadful dancer in the past world, and though she missed the way his ears tinged pink when he stepped on her toe, it was sweet to see that he had learned in this realm. She imagined him twirling around with the princesses or his mother, hating it and enjoying it at the same time, just as Robb had done.

 

“Have I mentioned that you look beautiful tonight, my lady?” Jon questioned as they danced by themselves on the balcony.

 

“You have not, your Grace,” She told him with a wide grin.

 

“Then allow me to do so. You look beautiful, Lady Sansa,” His grey eyes looked darker as he watched her. His eye lashes were so long that they nearly touched his cheek.

 

“Thank you, your Grace. You look quite dashing yourself,” She murmured.

 

“I take no credit for it. Daenerys is adamant that Aegon and I look our best for the balls and feasts, as does Rhaenys. They worry that we cannot properly dress ourselves,” She laughed at his words. It reminded her of the conversation she had heard between Robb, Theon, and Jon back in the old realm. They had been readying themselves for the King’s arrival, their father making them shave and cut their hair. Jon had never been one for fashion. 

 

They laughed as they danced the entire set, drifting closer and closer together. Towards the end, he made her nostalgic as he stepped heavily on her toe, his ears flushing pink as he apologized. He was about to apologize again when Ser Barristan appeared on the balcony, searching in the darkness for them.

 

“Your Grace, Lady Sansa,” He nodded in a curt way, “The Queen is searching for you, Prince Jon. It would be wise to slip inside before she finds you both out here,” He advised.

 

“Of course, thank you, Ser Barristan,” Jon replied, reluctantly pulling his hand away from hers, or so she liked to think. He seemed to hesitate as he did so, and she as hell hadn’t let him go willingly.

 

“I will escort Lady Sansa back to the high table. You would be wise to ask your mother for a dance, your Grace,” Ser Barristan told him as he nodded for her to enter the ballroom. She assumed it was because the coast was clear for the moment. Sure enough, Lyanna had her back to them, speaking to her husband, who did manage to catch sight of the three of them.

 

“Thank you for the dance, Lady Sansa,” Jon told her quietly, bowing his head to her.

 

“Thank you for asking, your Grace,” She murmured, curtsying faintly as Ser Barristan began to lead her away. She watched as the King pointed out his son to his wife, and how Lyanna flocked over to him, dragging him to the floor. She sat back in her seat and continued to observe them, watching as Jon’s frown grew more and more pronounced as the song continued. It seemed that Queen Lyanna was going to be her only true obstacle to getting Jon. It was a strange concept. For while Queen Lyanna was hostile and cold to her, she seemed to be a very well liked Queen. She was not evil like Cersei had been, just a crazily over protective mother. She would have to think long and hard of a plan to win her over if she ever wanted to be happy with Jon. Her first step would be finding out just why exactly the Queen disliked her so much. 

 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Black Friday! I won't be able to post for like a week and a half so I figured I'd post now instead of way later. This chapters takes place the same night where the last chapter left off. Thanks for all the reviews!

At the end of Jon and Queen Lyanna's dance, Margaery swooped in for the next set, her eyes meeting hers as she curtsied to the two. Margaery winked at her as Lyanna nodded to the younger girl, smiling at the two. It made her sick. Margaery was the worst choice in the world for Jon. She was more blatant in her lust for a crown then she imagined her previous self could have ever been, or at least she hoped. The Queen linked their hands together before waltzing away, smiling still. She left them looking like a proud hen at her match making skills.

 

“You do look a bit ill, sister,” Robb announced as he sat heavily besides her, taking a large gulp out of his goblet of ale, “And here I thought you were just toying with Joffrey,” He teased, a grin on his face.

 

“That would be rude and unladylike, brother,” She replied, turning her focus to him instead of Jon and Margaery. It would not do well to be caught staring quite so angrily at the two. Of course her anger was directed at Margaery not Jon, but she did not want her brother catching her staring at Jon as she wont to do. Anger was definitely not in her gaze whenever she glanced towards him.

 

“Are you fevered?” Robb’s teasing tone had gotten concerned, and he reached out to feel her forehead. His hand was like a block of ice. She swatted his hand away, telling him that she was fine, just a bit fatigued feeling, and perhaps a bit wine tired though she had barely had two sips. 

 

“I’m not fevered, just tired, Robb.” She told him with a sigh, watching as Jon and Margaery parted ways at the end of the song, only for Jon to be immediately passed to another young looking maiden. This one she did not recognize from the past world. She was blonde with a big smile and an even bigger bust, “I think I shall head to bed early. It appears that Arya and Gendry are done with this evening as well,” The two had disappeared while she was outside with Jon. A few others had left as well, making her absence acceptable. She had no desire to watch Jon dance with any more beautiful maidens. 

 

“I will escort you, sister. Gendry retired for the night in preparation for tomorrow. He’s in the starting line. Arya retired as well, claiming nerves and fatigue. Truth be told, I think they are both in the forge,” Robb whispered, as if it were a great secret. It wasn’t, really. Everyone knew that the two skipped out of events together to reconvene in the forge. Gendry would do work, while Arya watched or played with the various weapons. Sometimes Arya helped him, but she was better wielding a sword then making one.

 

“Of course they are,” She smiled, “And it is not needed. There are dozens of guards throughout the castle, I shall be just fine on my own. Enjoy the rest of the night, brother, there are dozens of beautiful girls for you to charm or at least attempt to” Robb chuckled at her barb, nudging her shoulder.

 

“You, my dear sister, are not funny. I have more then enough charm to secure myself a dance partner. Sleep well, Sansa,” Robb told her, patting her head like she was Rickon. She pulled a face, but he just chuckled and left her after a second. She watched him approach a brunette that sat alone at a table to the left of them. The girl was not a great beauty, but there was something appealing about the girls wide, innocent brown eyes. The two set off towards the dance floor even though the song was halfway finished. Robb spoke, and the girl laughed, a smile illuminating her entire face. She was beautiful then, stunning. Her brother must have thought so too for he could barely look away. Last she had seen Robb in the past world, he was not much different. He was far less charming though, more gangly and awkward then this 18 year old version of himself. He was a man grown now. He was not the King of Winter here. He was just a young lord dancing with a pretty maiden. She wished him all the happiness in the world as he spun the pretty girl around, both laughing at something.

 

For all that she wished for in this realm, she knew that above all else, she wished for her families health and happiness. She wished that they would never, ever face betrayals like they had in the past realm. Her father, betrayed by Baelish, her mother and brother by a man that swore to them and gave them the bread and salt, for Bran and Rickon who trusted Theon, and for Arya, who had no one to trust, and was still betrayed like the rest of them. And even Jon, she wished him happiness, whether it was with her or another, she wished him that more then anything. She wanted him to love her, felt as if she needed it to survive, but she knew that she was strong. So long as they were all alive and happy, she could suffer in silence. She could put on a happy mask, grin and bear it. This world's pain was nothing compared to the last. Her father once told her that if you love somebody, let them go, for if they return, they were always yours. If they don't, they never were. She could let him go so long as he was happy.

 

She picked up her goblet and downed the rest of the sweet red wine before standing. Robb had begun another dance with the brunette. 

 

She walked down deserted corridors, listening as the sounds of the feast grew further and further in the distance. It was eerily calm. The guards were not in this part of the castle, she noted, yet she felt no fear. Her dagger was attached to her side. She could defend herself. When she was just out of reach of the noise of the feast, she heard another noise, or rather, two others noises. Somewhere in the hallway, two people were arguing in what appeared to be High Valayrian. As she listened, eavesdropping blatantly, she realized it was the King and Queen. Her Aunt's Valayrian had a strange accent to it though the king spoke fluently. Petyr had taught her in the old world, and while he knew it well, his Braavosi lilt to the words stunted them. The King's voice, the way he spoke so easily, was almost like music.

 

_“She’s set her sight on our Jon now, Rhaegar. I can tell. She’s just like her mother. She’ll trap him into something, just like her mother trapped Ned after Brandon broke off their engagement,”_

 

_“She seems to be a different girl, Lya. And Jon appears to actually enjoy her company. Can you not just let it go?”_

 

_“I will not allow some want to be Queen to use my son to get a damn crown,”_

 

_“Lya-’_

 

_“Do not Lya, me, Rhaegar. That girl is a dumb, redheaded chit that knows nothing of what she is getting herself into. She and Margaery Tyrell think they are so stealthy with their little plans, but I won’t let them win. You know what I overheard them speaking of at that tourney in Riverrun. They will never get my sons so long as I live and breathe,”_

 

_“She is your niece,”_

 

_“Arya is my niece. Sansa is Catelyn’s daughter, and you know how I feel about Catelyn. I would be surprised if there was a drop of Stark blood in her,”_

 

_“Do not start that theory again, my dear. Nothing good can come out of it, and frankly, all of the others favor the Tully line as well, not just Lady Sansa”_

 

_“I can see Brandon in Robb and Bran, and Rickon looks just like Benjen did as a child, only fairer in color. She looks nothing like a Stark,”_

 

_“Lya, I thought we were over this,” Rhaegar sighed._

 

_“That was before she set her sights on my son,”_

 

_“Our son, Lya. And he has a good head on his shoulders. Let him make his own mistakes, his own decisions. You cannot protect him forever,”_

 

_“Watch me try,”_

 

She heard heavy footsteps, and before she knew it, her Aunt was rounding the corner, looking fiercely upset. She looked up when she noticed she wasn’t alone though, and glared openly

 

“Niece,” She remarked, her tone vaguely disgusted. Apparently her Aunt did not believe that she was even her niece. Interesting. She would have to try to figure out the rest of her parent's and Brandon's history. Clearly something was not matching up.

 

“Your Grace,” She curtsied.

 

“What are you doing out of the ballroom?” Her aunt questioned, suspicion written in every line on her face. She had age lines and laugh lines on her porcelain skin. Up close, she could see the differences between her Aunt and Arya. The Queen was pure steel while Arya had something softer about her, if that could be believed. Arya's eyes were lighter too, more the color of her father's. The Queen's were charcoal grey, nearly black. For a moment, Queen Lyanna reminded her of Cersei, but then it was gone the next. Lyanna may have hated her, but she was not a bad Queen. 

 

“I felt rather ill, your Graces,” She told them, “My head ached,”

 

“Ah yes, your little illness, " The way she pronounced the word made it seem as if the Queen was not quite convinced that she had been sick, "Let us hope you are well enough to attend the festivities tomorrow,” The tourney was tomorrow. She would not have missed it for the world.

 

“I hope so, your Grace,” She remarked.

 

“Perhaps you should find a cloak, then. It is quite cold and your dress leaves much skin exposed to the nights air, niece” Her dress exposed no more then the Queen’s, but she was appraising the southern cut with a disdainful expression. The Queen's was a northern cut, but the material was gauzy like the Essoi dresses that Danearys favored in the past world. 

 

“The cold does not bother me, your Grace. It is positively hot compared to the North, as you know,” She replied with a small smile and a shrug. The Queen scowled though. She had meant it as a subtle insult, and the Queen had noticed,“If you would excuse me though, King Rhaegar, Queen Lyanna, I really must get to bed,”

 

“Of course, Lady Sansa, have a good night,” King Rhaegar told her, bowing his head. Lyanna smiled.

 

“Pleasant dreams, niece,” Though her expression behind the eyes spoke a different message.

 

She went back to her chambers, and with the assistance of her maid, dressed in a nightgown and undid her hair. She laid out her gown for tomorrow before leaving. She sat on the balcony for what seemed like hours, watching the moon climb higher and higher in the sky, until she saw a familiar shape headed towards the Godswood. A few seconds later, a white blur trailed behind.  She deliberated for a moment before deciding to chance it. She grabbed her dressing gown and slippers, whistling for Lady to wake up. The wolf got out of the bed and trailed behind her as she snuck from her chambers.

 

She had to duck behind a tapestry once or twice to avoid a few drunken nobles, but she met no one she truly knew on her journey to the Godswood. By the time she got there, the air had gotten colder. It must be the sea breeze, she mused as her hair blew around her face, the air smelling strongly of salt. It was rather nice, she supposed. Better then the cloying heat of the capital or Dorne, but not quite as refreshing as the cold winds of winter. She missed the scent of snow in the air, which was ironic since she always prayed for summer or spring in the last world.

 

“Lady Sansa?” Jon’s voice startled her for true. She hadn’t realized he was so close. He was usually at the Heart tree in the center, not near the eastern border, the one that overlooked the rocky descent towards the beach. He was sitting on the wall, seemingly watching the waves beneath him. 

 

“Prince Jon,” She curtsied, “I apologize. I always seem to be interrupting your prayer,” She teased. She realized now that he was not dressed as he had been earlier, and appeared to be wearing his own sleepwear, which consisted of a pair of well-worn breeches and a simple white tunic. She could espy a dark maroon dressing gown on the rock towards the center of the wood, “Couldn’t sleep either?” She questioned.

 

“No, I always sleep ill before a tourney,’ He admitted, “And you?” He questioned, looking at her body quickly before looking back to her face, ears pink. She wore a white linen nightgown underneath her dark charcoal dressing gown. It covered everything, save for her ankles. It wasn’t like it was appealing, but he had certainly noticed.

 

“I do not know,” She told him with a shrug, “I simply couldn’t sleep. I fancied a bit more of the fresh ocean air, and figured that I should pray to the gods before the tourney tomorrow. Gods know that my brother shall need all the protection he can get,” She joked. He scooted over on the wall that he sat on, patting the space beside him. She sat carefully, glancing at the frothy waves beneath them. Every so often they broke against the rocks below, but the sea seemed relatively calm. 

 

“I am sure that with all his favors tied up his arm he will be protected enough,” Jon told her with a faint smirk, “I believe majority of the household staff are routing for him over their own Lord Gendry,”

 

“My brother is a charmer, for sure,” She laughed, “Of course, one of those favors is from our mother, so that doesn’t count,”

 

“My mother does the same for Aegon and I, alternating between the two, while our Aunt picks the other,” Jon confided, “Before she gave her favor to her betrothed, our sister did the same. It worked well for when our father was part of the tourney, as we had equal numbers,”

 

“Well, I certainly shall not be giving my favor to Robb. Gods help us if he wins, his shoulders will not be able to support his inflated head,” 

 

“Then who have you bestowed your favor on, my lady, if not your brother?” He questioned curiously. There was a small bit of hope in there as well, as if he wanted to wear her favor.

 

“As of yet, no one, your Grace,” She answered with a shrug.

 

“And if I were to ask?” He questioned curiously. She grinned.

 

“Are you asking, your Grace? Or is this still hypothetical?” She teased. He smiled again, the nervous look draining from his grey eyes.

 

“I am asking for your favor, Lady Sansa,” He told her.

 

She could easily give him one of her dozens of grey colored ribbons, but a better idea struck her as she watched him smile down at her. She pulled up her sleeve and unclasped the leather cord from around her wrist. A rough hand stopped her though, stilling her finger just as they were about to detach it.

 

“That has great meaning to you, my lady, I would not wish to presume-”

 

“It has great meaning to me, yes, but I would be honored for you to wear it in the tourney, my prince. I have the utmost trust in your ability to keep it safe. It brings luck to those that wear it, or so I heard,” She told him, detangling his fingers from hers as she slipped the bracelet off. She clasped his hand gently as she clasped it. It fit perfectly around his wrist, just as it had in the past life. It looked at home on him, “It suits you well,” She told him as she smoothed the cord against his pale skin, fighting the lump in the back of her throat. His skin was so warm and familiar. She never wanted to let go.

 

“Thank you, my lady,” He twisted his hand so that his fingers captured hers again, bringing them up so that he could place a chaste kiss against the top of her hand. It left a burning sensation against her skin. She was breathless.

 

“You are welcome, your Grace,” She managed to tell him a few seconds later.

 

“I shall do my best to prove myself worthy of such a token,” He told her with a gentle smile, “I should return to my chambers though, and you to yours. We both have a long day ahead of us tomorrow,”

 

“That would be wise, Prince Jon,” She murmured.

 

He escorted her back into the castle proper before they split up. It would be unwise to be seen together in their nightclothes. He kissed her hand again, but she took it a step further. She kissed his cheek quickly and chastely before he had time to react, whispering a goodbye into his ear as she pulled away, his given name slipping from her tongue without a second though,

 

“Good luck, Jon,” 

 

And then she left him in the corridor, too shocked by her own brazen actions to see how he reacted.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So hopefully this made it a bit clearer on why Lyanna is so hostile towards Sansa aka she's projecting her hatred of Catelyn and Sansa's previous self never really helped out the problem. I know it's a bit of a stretch because Lyanna is an adult and Sansa is her niece, but we all remember crazy Lysa and her issues with Sansa/Petyr (and Sansa was younger then 16 at that time) Not to worry though, I only write happy endings usually so chances are resolutions are ahead! Thanks again for reading and all of your kind reviews, I hope everyone has a safe Black Friday :)


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little earlier then I anticipated! Thanks for all the reviews!

She woke up the next morning to Lady nudging her cheek with a cold, wet snout. As soon as she blinked open her eyes and scratched the beasts giant head, the maid was knocking on her door, slipping into the room with a tray of fruit and bread for her to break her fast. The maid was efficient and quiet. She hadn't really noticed before but the girl could not have been much older then herself. 

 

“Good morning, Lady Sansa,” The maid greeted softly as she opened the shades. Sunlight streamed in along with a warm salty breeze. She inhaled deeply as she sat up from bed and put her feet to the cold ground.

 

“Good morning” She replied back, “How much time do we have?” She questioned as she plopped a piece of juicy red orange into her mouth as she made her way to wash basin to get rid of the sleep that had gathered in the corner of her eyes.

 

‘The breakfast feast for the men begins in a few minutes, so about an hour or two,” The maid told her. Lord Robert was hosting a male’s only breakfast to celebrate the beginning of the tourney. Arya was disappointed not to be invited, but she had no care for that.

 

“Then we must make haste if I am to look presentable,” She told the younger girl, pulling her nightgown off unaided. She made her way to the privy while the maid set up the soaps and oils at the giant tub in the corner. They must have filled that while she slept.

 

“You could win the Queen of Love and Beauty dressed in a potato sack, my lady,” The maid told her as she clinked the bottles of oils and soaps together, moving them as carefully as she could.

 

“What a sight that would be,” She laughed, finishing her business, “I think vanilla and the Dornish oils today,” The Dornish oil was citrus like, a mix of lemons and oranges. She loved wearing it.

 

“Of course, my lady,” The maid replied as she helped her into the tub. She was scrubbed yet again, though less vigorously. She had bathed before the ball yesterday after all. The maid then scrubbed her with sea salt, telling her it had healing properties.

 

Once she was mostly dry, the girl rubbed the oils into her skin gently. It was relaxing and tranquil. She broke her fast as she waited for the oils to seep into her skin at which time the maid removed the tub of water from her chambers.

 

Nearly twenty minutes later, the maid helped her into a new shift, a light grey gown, and a darker paisley printed overcoat. It had stunning silver direwolf pins across the bust, where it was cinched close. 

 

“Tis a beautiful piece, my lady,” The maid told her as she fixed the way the gown lay underneath it.

 

“Thank you,” She told her sincerely. She forwent then gloves and cloak since it was a beautiful warm day out, and opted for a simple lattice silver choker over any precious jewels. The maid brushed out her red curls and smoothed then with a bit of oil to make them shine. She pinned a bit back to keep it out of her face, but left the rest down. It was simple and quite northern of her. 

 

“You are ready to be crowned the Queen of Love and Beauty, Lady Sansa,” The maid announced as she dabbed a bit of perfume behind her wrists and ears. 

 

“Then I had best hope I gave my favor to the winner, won’t I?” She questioned.

 

“I am sure that whoever had the courage to ask the prettiest maiden at court can win such a tourney,” The maid told her, “Was it Prince Aegon, my lady? He is strong and quite comely,”

 

“Twas not Prince Aegon, no” She told her with a coy smile, “You will have to wait and see if he wins and crowns me the Queen,” She told her, “You are permitted to watch the tourney, yes?”

 

“Yes,” The young girl nodded, her smile excited and bright, “Lord Robert has even permitted a few of the household guards to participate in the event. The elder ones deferred to the younger since some still need to be on guard,” The girl told her, “My brother is one, and since he is not attached to anyone yet, he wears my favor,”

 

“Then I wish him luck,” She told her, “I would be honored to lose against something as beautiful as you,”

 

“You are so kind, my lady,” The maid told her, blushing red as she looked down, “But I am nothing compared to the ladies of the court,”

 

“Nonsense, false smiles and jewels do not make you beautiful,” She told her with in all seriousness, “Come, I will help you,” She steered her towards her vanity, forcing her to sit though she protested that it wasn’t proper.

 

“Nonsense, we’re just two girls playing at dress up,” She told her as she set about brushing the girls thick dark hair. It was straight as straw, but shiny in a way even hers lacked. She plaited it in a long braid before tying it off with a piece of royal purple ribbon, which brought out the green in the girls eyes. She dabbed perfume behind her ears and at her wrist, and powdered her cheeks before pinching them to add color. She smeared more oil across her lips to look shiny, and over her lashes to look longer. There wasn’t much she could do for the dress. It was a simple sheath, yellow in color, with a black apron, the Baratheon colors.

 

“Are you permitted to wear something other then this dress?” She questioned as she picked at the thick, unforgiving fabric.

 

“I had planned to change, yes,” Her maid nodded.

 

“Good, because this is dreadful,” She told her, causing the girl to laugh, “I would lend you something of my own, but I fear it would cause more problems for you then I,”

 

“Your gesture is appreciated though, lady Sansa. You have been much to kind to me,” The girl told her, “Thank you,”

 

“Thank you for helping me every morning,” She told her, “You had best run along though, lest you miss the opening ceremony,”

 

“As should you,” The maid told her, “I do hope you win, my lady,” She told her in parting, scurrying out the servant’s entrance. Alone in her chambers, she found the dagger from Aegon and hid it in the belt of her gown. Her overcoat obscured it, but the hilt was accessible easily enough. Joffrey being in the castle made her quite uneasy though he had not yet proved to be dangerous. One could never be too careful after all. 

 

Since Arya had not stormed into her room yet, she made her way towards her sister’s chambers. She heard no yelling or sounds of a struggle, so she knocked. Arya called for her to enter a moment later.

 

Her sister was dressed in a winter blue gown with a silver lattice belt. It matched her necklace near perfectly. Her long dark hair was plaited to the side, and someone had pinned pearls through it. Her cheeks were flushed, no doubt from a few well placed pinches, and she smelt like lavender.

 

“You look lovely, sister,” She told her with a grin. Arya clearly wasn’t fond of the particular dress she had been forced into wearing today. She kept picking at the laces of it and smoothing down the skirt, though it did not need it. She looked uncomfortable, but quite beautiful. 

 

“Aunt Lya told me that I had to wear blue to match the crown of roses that I am sure to win at the end of the tourney,” Arya grumbled, “I would rather be fighting then getting roses,”

 

“Our Aunt must have a high opinion of your betrothed’s fighting abilities,” Arya snorted in laughter.

  
“Gendry will be out on the second round. He has the strength and the skill but he is loath to actually hurt someone, pansy that he is” Arya told her, “Aunt Lya thinks that I will have to be crowned since I’m the most important female in this tourney,”

 

“And if Robb wins, you think he will place that crown on your head over some pretty lesser noble that will inflate and indulge his ego?” She teased.

 

“No but Robb is dreadful too,” Arya told her, “I don’t want to be crowned. You can have it, just step in front of me a bit. No one shall notice,”

 

“And you think I wouldn’t be crowned on my own, sister?” She taunted, teasing her sister “You’ve grown vain,” Arya laughed though, taking it as a joke as it was intended. In the previous word, Arya would have called her mean and a bitch over such words, and she probably would have been right.

 

“Ah yes, I forgot about you and your favors. Of course, my favor, which was a bruise to his toes for dancing so dreadfully, was to Gendry. Who did you give your precious favor to? Are you down a dozen ribbons yet again, Sansa?" Arya giggled.

 

“I gave my favor to only one,” She told her simply, sitting on the edge of her bed. Arya continued to fuss over her hair in the looking glass. It looked fine though. Arya just liked to pick at things.

 

“Just one? You really have changed,” Arya laughed, “And who was the lucky suitor? Prince Aegon perhaps? Lord Joffrey maybe, he’s an arrogant ass though. You know Loras’s true preference, so not him nor Lord Renly. Ser Willas is my next guess. Robb is my last, please do say that you did not gift it to him,”

 

“None of those that you named, sister,” She replied. She was spared having to answer by her mother entering the chambers, dressed in dark green and navy blue. She fussed mostly over Arya before finally insisting that they leave now, lest they be late. She agreed. She did not wish to miss a single event in this mock tourney. It really was just the joust after all. A true tourney would have taken much too long.

 

The corridors were in a state of chaos and confusion as everyone rushed around to be ready in time for the first event. Because the tourney was being held in Gendry and Arya’s honor, they would be sitting with the royal family in the royal section. Arya was more thrilled then her, which was saying something. While she enjoyed Princess Daenerys immensely, she could not yet say the same about Princess Rhaeyns. The elder girl was not mean but she was not friendly either, and of course as the Queen's reason for hating her was becoming more apparent, the less impressed she was with Lyanna. Something had changed in this realm, or perhaps her father had exagerrated his sister's better qualities in the last. 

 

"Sansa, love, is your head in the clouds?" Her mother questioned, pulling her gently out of the way of a servant that was carrying two full flagons of wine. She had nearly collided with him, which would have been an utter disaster. She was lucky her mother had noticed. She had been to busy thinking about what she had over heard the other night. She knew she had to figure out how her parents marriage went down in this realm since apparently it was not quite like the other. 

 

"My apologies," She murmured to the servant as they continued past.

 

When they did make it out onto the tourney grounds, which were located in the area that Lord Robert had specifically made for this reason, it was nearly full. People had come from all over to see the tourney and to take part in it. Some whispered that it was larger then the Harrenhal tourney, though she doubted that it was. 

 

“Look at Rickon,” Arya whispered pointing to the side. She watched as her little brother struggled to drag a saddle across the pitch. He was obviously squiring for someone. She didn’t know whom though.

 

“Whom does he squire for?” She questioned. She assumed Bran was acting as Robb’s squire since her second youngest brother had not yet been seen this morning.

 

“Jon,” Arya replied, “Only because his original squire broke his leg in the city earlier this week. Apparently he was running after Ghost for something or another.  Rickon was all too happy to fill in,”

 

“He will not be filling in again for several years,” Her mother whispered as she watched her son struggle with the giant saddle, a fond, slightly worried, smile on her face, “Come now, girls,”

 

When they reached the royal box, Princess Rhaenys and Daenerys were already there. Her father and Lord Robert were there as well, a goblet of dornish red in the large hand of Lord Robert, a tankyard of ale in her father's. Apparently it was late enough to drink. She guessed that the two were drinking to the impending marriage of their children. She knew her father was saddened by the loss of Arya. She could see it in the lines of his face when he looked over at the two of them, nodding in greeting. The two princesses sat far from the two men, and after greeting everyone, she joined the Princesses with Arya while her mother joined Robert and her father.

 

“Tis a beautiful day for a tourney,” Daenerys told them as they watched the men prepare themselves in the field beneath them. There were dozens of knights, hedge knights, lords, princes, etc. Lord Robert hadn’t discriminated against anyone in this tourney. If you had a horse, a sword, and courage, you were allowed to enter. The prize money was incentive enough. For the past few weeks though, Lord Stannis and Lord Renly had been weeding out the weakest ones so that it would be over within a day. A week ago, the final rooster had been completed, and brackets were set up. On the field below them sat Lord Stannis, Ser Barristan, and Prince Viserys, who were apparently the judges and keepers of the tourney.

 

“Prince Viserys does not partake himself?” She questioned as she caught sight of the glaring silver blonde male.

  
“Heavens no,” Both princesses laughed, “Viserys won’t even know how to properly hold a sword,” Daenerys clarified, ‘I would best him in a tourney,”

 

“You could best half of them no doubt,” Princess Rhaenys replied, “As could you Lady Arya, yes?”

 

“I could best Robb for sure,” Arya replied, “And Gendry since he refused to fight back. I would probably win against Jon as well. Aegon wouldn’t hold back though. That would be a fair fight. I suppose I should ask him for a duel soon,”

 

“He would give you a fair fight for sure,” Daenerys told her.

 

They chatted about the fighters and made guesses on who would win and who would crowd whom the Queen of Love and Beauty. Like her sister, Daenerys did not want to be crowned either. Rhaenys only chance of being crowned was if her betrothed won, and she was adamant that he wouldn’t. She didn’t like how the blue of the winter roses clashed with her hair anyways, she told them.

 

The crown of love and beauty sat on a pedestal before the three keepers. It was a beautiful flower crown, filled with blooming blue roses and little springs of white sea flowers from the beaches below them. It was  a nice mix of Northern and Stormland aesthetic. 

 

“I am glad that Robert chose to limit the tourney to just jousting or this would takes months,” Arya whispered as the crowds continued to trickle in. The tourney was set to start at the tenth hour. By her estimations, it was fast approaching.

 

A few minutes later, the King and Queen entered the field, and called for the attention of the onlookers. They were both dressed in black and red, thick ruby encrusted crowns upon their heads. Her Aunt looked nothing like a Stark in that moment. They made a speech about unity of the kingdoms and uniting of the families, etc, etc. It was met with raucous applause, and then Robert was addressing the crowd, announcing the prize, and declaring the event officially started.

 

The King and Queen made their way to their seats beside them. Lyanna smiled warmly at her father and Arya, but ignored her mother and her completely. She was fine with that. If her aunt wished to act like a child, she would act like the adult. Besides, she was too busy watching the tournament beneath her to pay them any mind, royal or not.   The first few matches were between knights that she couldn’t even name. Their matches were over quickly, and new competitors were taking their place. The first competitor she finally recognized was Ser Loras, who easily unhorsed a Vale knight. She had a brief, terrifying flashback to the knight from the Vale that had died at the hands of Ser Gregor, before snapping back to reality.

 

After Ser Loras unhorsed the Vale knight, Willas unhorsed a hedge knight that was apparently quite skilled. It was thought that Willas would have lost to him, so the crowds went wild when he emerged victorious. That was the first of many long matches.

 

After Willas won, two familiar people made their way out onto the field, their lances at the ready. She watched with baited breath as Robb went up against Renly Baratheon, who was larger and had more experience. The first time, Robb’s lance broke, but Renly remained atop his horse.

 

“See, he’s not skilled enough. Renly will win,” Arya whispered as she watched them set up again. Robb squared his shoulders and arched his back, getting ready for another go. She said a quick prayer as the two got closer and closer together.

 

“Ha!” She cried out triumphantly when Renly fell from his horse, Robb cheering for himself as he laughed.

 

“Even he is stunned by his win,” Arya chuckled, watching as Robb left the area looking smugger then one aught to be.

 

From there, they watched Gendry get unhorsed on the fifth go, Rhaenys’ betrothed advanced to the next round with Jon, Aegon, and unfortunately, Joffrey Baratheon. Two Frey’s were knocked out, along with Tyget and Lancel Lannister. A Karstark advanced, but an Umber didn’t. Her uncle Brandon unhorsed a scrawny little hedge knight, causing Ser Barristan to shake his head. Ser Brandon was the only one participating in the tourney. Jaime Lannister advanced as well.

 

Hours passed as the numbers slowly got smaller and smaller. And then she was watching as the banner of House Targaryen and the Banner of House Lannister were paired. She watched in horror as Joffrey and Jon took their positions. She had the utmost conviction in Jon’s win, but it was unnerving to see the two fight each other, and strangely satisfying.

 

It took only one go, and Joffrey was sprawled on the ground, clutching his wrist. She smiled to herself, thinking he deserved far more. Jon would have wanted him to suffer a thousand times more then he was now, back in the old world. She would have to settle for this though.

 

‘Surprised that stupid prick even made it that far,” Arya whispered as she clapped loudly for Jon.

 

The next round saw the loss of Ser Brandon to Jaime Lannister, and then Robb to Aegon, who looked quite proud of himself. There was a hedge knight that did quite well for himself, and she realized that he might actually be competition. Arya told her he was from Dorne, and marked to win second to Jaime Lannister, who was marked to win first. There were a dozen all together at this point, and two more matches in this round to go.

 

By the end of the fifth round, there were 8 left. Princes Aegon and Jon, Jaime Lannister, the Dornish hedge knight, Ser Loras, a Baratheon guard, a hedge knight from the Reach, and a Norther guard she believed was called Torrhen.

 

“If they pair Aegon and Jon together, it is going to be a blood bath,” Rhaenys whispered as the next matches were announced. At this point, most of the eight remaining looked quite fatigued. It was well past midday, and most had eaten a small lunch. The crowds were starting to get restless too. Hopefully within an hour, it would be ending. She desperately wanted to stretch her legs for a spell.

 

The first set to go were Jaime and Ser Loras. Ser Loras won after three broken lances and a broken shield. It looked like a tough match, as both men were exhausted after.

 

From there the Baratheon guard lost to Dornish hedge knight, the Northern guard lost to Jon, and hedge knight from the Reach lost to Aegon. Jon was a skilled jouster, he was agile and intelligent in his movement. He anticipated the opponents move before they made it, something he had excelled in in the past world. Unfortunately, Aegon was quite similar. It the two were paired; it would be quite the match.

 

With four left, the keepers announced the second to last round. A golden rose went up next to a red dragon, and then Aegon’s name was being called forward.

 

To everyone’s surprise, Aegon emerged the victor, grinning widely as he helped Loras up off the dirt guard. Loras grinned though he had lost, and gave him a cuff on the shoulder, shaking his hand before leaving.

 

“Heavens help us if Jon wins,” Daenerys whispered, as Jon got ready to face the Dornish hedge knight. She was confident in his skill but the Dornish knight was impressive as well. It would be a tight competition.

 

And it was. It was neck and neck for four entire tilts. Jon broke two lances and a shield, but the Dornish man lost a shield and three lances.On the fifth tilt, she watched in horror as they both struck true, shaking both of them. She watched as Jon started to fall backwards, but managed to keep himself upright at the last second. The other guy wasn’t as lucky. He lost his grip, and fell from the horse. The crowds went wild, herself included.Jon helped the knight up and shook his hand, before turning to his brother.

 

“We’ll be down to one son at the end of this,” She heard Rhaegar whisper as the two prepared to joust against each other. They sized each other up like strangers. She would bet all of the prize money that they knew each other far better then they knew any of their opponents. They had trained together for years after all. 

 

“This is the best wedding gift ever,” Arya whispered as the two began, charging full speed at one another. She watched as the lances made contact with the opposite shields, both shattering on impact, both riders keeping their mount.

 

“This will be never ending,” Daenerys whispered dramatically. And it really was. By the seventh go, everyone was getting tired of it. Some of the more brazen commoners were yelling things that would make a sailor blush. The King and Queen were cheering in good nature for each of their sons, but Arya was unabashedly cheering for Jon while Robb booed quite vocally for Aegon. Daenerys and Rhaenys cheered for Aegon since Jon appeared to have enough well-wishers.

 

“Who do you suppose will win, Lady Sansa?” Daenerys questioned as the squires got them yet another lance each. They were lucky the shields had held this time. Aegon was bleeding from a cut above his eye, while Jon’s arm was bleeding freely. Thankfully it wasn’t his dominant arm. They were both grimy and sweaty, but both appeared determined. Jon’s grey eyes were pure steel as he waited for Rickon to bring him the lance. Aegon’s lighter purple eyes were focused as he flexed his arms, preparing for another go. He grabbed the lance from the squire without a backwards glance. Jon took the lance carefully from Rickon before ruffling her brother’s curls.

 

“Prince Jon will win, your Grace,” She told the princess with conviction. As he stretched his arm, she noticed the leather bracelet against his wrist. She smiled faintly. He looked up and caught her eye, holding her gaze as he stretched further, revealing the whole bracelet. He winked, causing her to smile even wider.

 

“Whom did he just wink at?” Rhaenys dissolved into a fit of laughter at her younger half brother, while Daenerys tried in vain to hide her own giggles. Arya was laughing as well but the adults seemed not to have noticed.

 

“I do not know,” Daenerys choked out, “Good gods, Jon is flirting with someone. Shy, little Jon,” She laughed, “The world is ending, ladies,”

 

“Let him flirt,” Rhaenys had controlled her giggles though her face still bore signs of mirth, “Lya will eat whomever it is alive if she does not approve, like a mother dragon guards her eggs,”

 

“How poetic,” Daenerys answered dryly, “But perhaps all our solemn little Jon needs is a lady love to brighten his spirits. He is at of a marriageable age after all,” She waggled her brows, dissolving into laughter again. The two princesses seemed beyond amused at it all. It was not mean though, she supposed. She would laugh at Robb if he did such a thing as well. So she smiled and laughed with them for a moment, until Arya hushed them all.

 

“Shush, they’re starting again,” Arya hissed, leaning away from her seat, her bright grey eyes focused on the events below. She watched as the two charged yet again, but she noticed something different about this time. It wasn’t Aegon, but Jon. He had changed his stance atop his mount, angling his lance at a slightly different angle, holding the reigns in a slightly different way. She held her breath as the two charged towards each other, getting closer and closer. 

 

“Oh god” She heard someone whisper as one red and black striped lance crashed into the three headed dragon shield, while the other red and black lance crashed into the opponent rider, sending the black and red clad royal to the ground in a collective gasp of surprise.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update will probably be Tuesday or Wednesday


	17. Chapter 17

_ “Oh god” She heard someone whisper as one red and black striped lance crashed into the three headed dragon shield, while the other red and black lance crashed into the opponent rider, sending the black and red clad royal to the ground in a collective gasp of surprise. _

 

Prince Aegon went down hard, landing on his back. The crowd gasped before breaking out into raccuous applause. She imagined the blush that would be covering Jon’s neck and ears at the moment. Jon dismounted quickly, waving to the crowd before heading towards his brother.

 

“He won, good gods” Princess Rhaenys sighed heavily, “Aeg is going to be insufferable throughout the feast tonight, what with his ego and all,” She murmured as the prince in question continued to lay prone on the ground, allowing his brother to help him up after a second. Aegon punched his shoulder lightly. She could see the grin on both of their faces. The crowd cheered as Jon held up Aegon’s hand within his own. Lord Robert took to the podium again, and presented Jon with the winnings, which Jon promptly told him that he would be distributing across the orphanages of the realm. It was a large sum of money to be giving away, so the crowd started cheering again. Even the King and Queen looked surprised at the announcement, though they did look proud.

 

And then Robert called for him to name his Queen of Love and Beauty with a suggestive grin, presenting him with the beautiful blue and white crown of flowers.Jon took it carefully, mounted his horse, and then looked around the stadium as was custom for the winner. Even if they knew whom they were going to chose they had to survey the area first. It was part of the show.

 

After doing that, he steered his dark mount towards the royal box, causing her heart to beat faster, erratically in her chest. She could swear that you could hear it out loud it was beating so fast. 

 

“And now he crowns his dear mother,” She heard Daenerys whisper under her breath with a smirk on her face. Everyone was watching the royal box now, so they all had smiles plastered across their faces, everyone save for Arya who was glaring. She slipped a polite smile onto her own face though she wanted to smile so brightly that her cheeks would hurt. She was not crowned yet though. She would smile as she pleased when the crown sat atop her head. She would not count her chickens before the eggs hatched like she had always done in the past realm. 

 

Jon dismounted when he reached the royal box, and the guards permitted him to enter even though he himself was a royal. It was procedure encase someone who wasn’t a royal had won. To the surprise of the adults, whose shocked expressions appeared for a brief second before morphing back into practiced masks, he made his way towards them, his sister, aunt, Arya, and herself. Arya scowled openly at him, daring him to put the crown atop her dark tresses. Jon smiled at her younger sister, grinning a bit ruefully.

 

“Smile, Arya, like I would ever torture you like this, wedding or not,” He whispered as he approached them.

 

“Thank gods,” Arya hissed back, smiling for true this time, “You did well, cousin,” She complimented.

 

“Thank you, cousin,” He told her with a smile before turning his grey eyes to her, they looked hopeful,  “Lady Sansa, will you do me the honor of being my Queen of Love and Beauty?” He questioned, holding out his hand for her to take should she accept his gracious request. 

 

“I would be honored, your Grace,” She nodded as she took his sweaty hand within her own, allowing him to pull her up out of her seat. He pressed a sweet, albeit sweaty, kiss to her hand. She ignored the surprised noises that came from the box, and took his hand in her own. He dropped her hand only to secure the crown to the top of her head, and then took her hand again, leading her towards his horse so that they could do the lap around the field, again part of the showmanship of a tourney. 

 

She mounted first, allowing him to help her in an effort to appear ladylike, even though she could easily mount herself. She rather enjoyed the feeling of his large, strong hands on her waist. A completely inappropriate thought for this world flashed in her mind, a memory of the past. Her cheeks flushed as she forced herself to remember that she had many of hundreds of eyes on her. She sat sidesaddle, which was dreadfully uncomfortable. A moment later, Jon pulled himself up behind her, making her feel a bit more comfortable with his warm body pressed much too close to hers to be considered appropriate. Again, her mind started to stray. Focus, she told herself, just focus. She smiled widely just as Jon kicked the horse into a trot.

 

The crowd cheered once again as he did his victory circle, one hand on the reigns, the other wrapped around her waist, keeping her on the saddle. She smiled easily. It was hard not to when she was so close to Jon. She could feel his heart hammering in his chest, his blood still high from the joust. She could smell his familiar woodsy scent, mixed with blood and sweat, just like it always was in the old world. But his heart wasn’t racing from near death, and the blood on his person was not that of dead enemies. He had not just defeated an army of dead or foes. She was not on his horse because hers had been slain in the battle or because she feared he was too weak from blood loss to ride on his own. He had won a joust against his brother, a simple thing in this time of peace, a normal thing. He had picked her as the most beautiful at the joust, and was touting her about as a symbol of his victory. The saddle was uncomfortable, but she wouldn’t change this small moment of pure bliss for the world.

 

As they finished their lap, the other riders starting gathering on the pitch to collect their things, move their horses to the stables, etc. The crowds were dispersing to adjourn to the feast, food and a respite from sitting in the same position for hours a welcome diversion. It had gone on longer then anticipated after all. She did not blame them for wanting to move around. She herself could not wait to indulge in the lemon braised chicken Arya had promised would be served tonight, along with the little lemon treats Lord Robert had been serving all week. She had eaten so well in this realm that she had nearly forgotten the hunger of the last world.

 

“Hold tight,” Jon told her, taking her mind off of how hungry she truly was, gripping her tighter as she tried to grasp on to what she could. She ended up half hugging his torso, leaning against him heavily. He kicked the horse into a trot, quickly escaping the building pandemonium that was overtaking the pitch. She savored the warmth he radiated. Everyone was hungry and trying to make their way into the castle proper for the feast but he dodged them easily. He brought her around the pitch and down a small hill, towards the private stables that she knew Daenerys kept her horse in. 

 

As they passed the guards watching the stables, he slowed to a trot. He stopped in front of the stables and jumped down, offering her his hand. She took it carefully and slid from the horse, her crown tilting a bit. He smiled and fixed it for her.

 

“Thank you, your Grace,” She told him.

 

“For fixing the crown or for giving it to you in the first place?” He questioned as he removed his thick gloves. They were well worn and fraying at the seams.

 

“For both, your Grace,” She replied with a small smile.

 

“Tis only fair that the most beautiful lady at the tourney be crowned the Queen of Love and Beauty,” He answered, causing her to smile wider, “And your favor brought me luck,” He reminded her. She could see it carefully tied around his wrist.

 

“You did not win because of luck. You won because you outsmarted Prince Aegon. He fell into a habit, so you changed your stance,” She brought it up not only because it was true, but to distract him from her favor. Now that it was upon his wrist, she had no desire to see him without it. He would try to give it back though, kind as he was. 

 

“You noticed that?” He questioned as he paused in taking off his gauntlets. He was having a bit of difficulty with the straps by himself. She wondered briefly where Rickon, his supposed squire, was.

 

“I did, it was a smart move, your Grace,” She told him, “May I?” She questioned, gesturing to his gauntlet, which was getting more twisted as he tried to undo the clasps himself. It was ornate tourney wear, the kind most knights wore only for show. It was no wonder he was having difficulty.

 

“You know how to remove armor, my lady?” He questioned though he offered up his arm easily enough. She undid the fastener with a simple flick of her fingers, letting the polished steel fall heavily to the ground.

 

“I have many brothers, your Grace,” She told him, though it was lie. Jon had taught in the previous world in fact. It was after his squire, Ollie, died, the very battle that he had died in, in fact. Jon blamed himself for failing to protect curly haired youth, a kid no older then Bran. Jon had adjourned back to his tent only to realize that Ollie usually was waiting for him, waiting to remove his armor. He could have removed the armor himself, but he was struck by the realization, the pain of it all. She had found him nearly an hour later, having been kept away from the battle; sitting in his bloody metals, looking dazed and lost. She had learned how to take it off that day, and had done it every day after that.

 

“You are more skilled then my actual squire back in the capital,” He told her as she undid the other arm. The arm gauntlets were easy enough, but the others would be tricky. He seemed to be wearing the bare minimum for armor though. Greaves on his legs, but nothing else, the wrist gauntlets, the breastplate, and the long discarded helm. He took the gorget off himself, “It’s what I imagine those heavy chokers feel like,” He told her as he did so.

 

“Perhaps I should consider giving up being a lady and become a squire instead, your Grace. Do you know any knights in need of a new one?” She teased as she undid the breastplate and shoulder plates. If he noticed her hands lingering on his toned muscles, he did not comment. Jon grabbed them from her as soon as she had them off. They were quite heavy, so she was thankful.

 

“I do not, my lady. But I shall keep an eye out for you,” He told her with a laugh. 

 

“You crown her the Queen of Love and Beauty, and then force her to be your squire as well? Aren’t you prince charming, little brother,” Came the voice of Aegon from the other side of the stable. She looked up to find him leading his horse, along with Rickon, and another young boy who was probably Aegon’s squire. Jon just grinned at his brother though, “If I had won, my lady, you would not be forced into being my squire, that much is sure,”

 

“Ah, the sulking. I knew it was coming,” Jon replied easily, gesturing for Rickon to come forward to help him with the rest of his armor. Her little brother scurried forth, easily getting ride of the last bits of armor he wore. She had removed most of it.  He looked so proud about it though. She ruffled his curls as he removed the last piece. 

 

“I am not sulking,” Aegon replied simply as he allowed his squire to remove his even more ornate gear. The poor squire was struggling quite a bit. The heavily polished metal looked heavier then the kid himself, and he was not a small child. 

 

“You have no reason to sulk, my son,” King Rhaegar was there then, Queen Lyanna on his arm. The black of her dress only served to make her skin appear fairer and her hair more glossy. Her grey eyes, eyes that were darker then both her father's and Jon's, looked like a stormy sky. She glanced at her briefly, lips pursed tightly, and then looked back to her sons. Of course she looked warmly at the two of them, smiling proudly. She swore the stormy grey eyes turned to a lighter grey, the color of a winter's morning nearly. 

“You both did so well,” Lyanna told them, “We are so proud of the two of you,” 

 

“You changed your ways, Jon,” Rhaegar commented after a second, “You changed the angles, yes?”

 

“Is that what it was?” Aegon questioned, “You changed the angle?”

 

“We’ve been mock dueling for ages, Aegon. I know that you know my patterns and moves. You should have realized that I knew yours as well,” Jon told him, “You always mocked me for tucking my arm in when I grew tired of jousting, so I didn’t. I feigned,” Jon shrugged. 

 

“At least you chose a proper Queen of Love and Beauty,” Aegon told him, “Had I won, I would have crowned you as well, Lady Sansa,” He told her flirtatiously.

 

“And whomever gave you their favor would have been quite put out, Prince Aegon,” She told him, gesturing to the dozen or so ribbons that hung from his wrist. He had more of a collection then Robb. He grinned ruefully and pulled on a sky blue one, “Because I am quite certain that none of those ribbons belong to I,”

 

“Ah, you wound me more then my little brother, Lady Sansa,” Aegon declared dramatically, purple eyes dancing brightly,  “I shall go bathe before the feast, family. I doubt Lady Sansa will do me the honor of a dance if I reek of sweat and blood,” He looked to his squire, who was brushing his horse, “Finish that and then go have fun, Podrick,” He told the lad.

 

“Yes, ser,” The boy replied, “I mean your Grace,” He stammered. Aegon waved him off though and continued towards the castle. He hadn’t been lying. The two both reeked of sweat and grime. She hadn't really noticed it though. She had smelt worse in the last world. Nothing would ever be more gut wrenching or more vomit inducing then the scent of putrid, dead flesh left to bake in the morning sun. Or perhaps the scent of a wound gone bad, the scent of death on the horizon, the feeling of knowing that someone was going to die soon. Both scents made sweaty, grimy princes smell like flowers.

 

“I suppose I should go make myself presentable as well,” Jon announced, looking to Rickon, who had removed the armor from the horse. It was piled messily in the corner, “Are you finished, cousin?” He questioned.

 

“Yes?” Rickon phrased it as a questioned, unsure of the answer.

 

“Good job,” Jon praised him, reaching out to ruffle his curls just as she had done minutes ago, “Mother, father, I will see you at the feast. May I escort you back to the castle, Lady Sansa?”

 

‘That would be lovely, thank you,” She murmured, taking his offered arm.

 

“Are you coming with us, Rickon?” Jon questioned. The boy nodded, skipping ahead of them a bit.

 

“King Rhaegar, Queen Lyanna,” She curtsied to them. King Rhaegar nodded his head back but the Queen stayed stony faced. She did not allow it to affect her, not now. Jon led her away from the stables, towards the castle proper. Rickon joined them after a moment, grabbing onto her free hand as he chatted excitedly about his future as a squire, and then a knight. Jon praised him, telling him that if he applied himself, he could do it, so long as his father agreed of course. She let them have the conversation, preferring to watch the two interact. Jon acted like Robb did with Rickon, only less teasing. It was how he had treated the three year old back in Winterfell all those years ago. 

 

They came to her chambers first.

 

“Here we are, my lady,” Jon stopped just outside the door, though Rickon kept walking. He was still holding her hand, so she inadvertently tugged him back when she stopped, “May I have your hand in the first dance tonight?” He questioned.

 

“I would be honored, your Grace” She told him. It was a formality, asking her. He had crowned her so they had to dance together first. It was tradition though it was still kind of him to ask.

 

“And may I be so bold as to ask for the last set as well?” He questioned, looking a bit nervous to be asking for such liberties. She laughed softly and nodded.

 

“I am not promised to anyone else yet,” She told him, “I shall save you those sets, Prince Jon,” She assured him. She would dance every set with him if it weren’t for the looks they would get, the rumors that would spread.

 

“Will you dance with me too, Sansa?” Rickon questioned. 

 

“If you promise to bathe and dress like the little lordling that you are,” She bargained.She knew he would only make it to the fifth set at the latest, so she told him that she would save her second set for him. Robb would most likely claim her for the third, and she could avoid Joffrey for the next few until she danced with Jon again.

 

"But I was not in the tourney!" Rickon protested, pouting at the prospect of a bath. 

 

"You have dirt on your cheek," She pointed out the smudge, tweaking his nose with a smile as she pulled her hand away. Rickon scowled and looked to Jon.

 

"So does he," Rickon pointed out. Jon started wiping at his cheek, which was indeed covered with dirt. It was fruitless though. His entire face was smudged with it actually. She hadn't noticed until now. It was probably from the sweat and dirt mixing.

 

"Both of you will bathe or I will dance solely with Robb," She told them, "Now off you go, the feast will start soon and you both better be squeaky clean, isn't that so, Rickon?"

 

"Oh, you've gotten me in trouble as well," Jon grabbed Rickon and tossed him over his shoulder, "We will make haste in our bathing, my lady. Rest assured, you will not have to suffer through countless sets with partner that was bested by Aegon of all people,' He joked as Rickon held tight to his neck now. She shooed them away, knowing that if they continued to banter outside of her door that they would never bathe in time to make it to the beginning of the feast. Besides, she had to ready herself as well. Her green gown would not do with the crown that now sat upon her head. She would have to chose another. It was novel and normal.  If only all problems were as simple as changing gowns, she mused. 

 


	18. FLASHBACK to 282- NED POV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is just a little flashback to the history of this realm, done in Ned's POV. It gives a little bit of a background to things. I switched up some dates for the story's sake, tweaking rebellions and such. Let me know if it clears things up or doesn't make sense!

Winterfell

282 AC

 

 

Eddard Stark, or Ned as his friends and family called him, caught the man just as he was about to sneak out of the castle through a low lying balcony. Dressed like a vagrant with a sack over his shoulder, riding boots on his feet, and a thick woolen cloak around his shoulders. The man was dressed for a long, hard journey. 

 

“You cannot just run away and abandon your duties,” Ned spoke, startling the man, who sighed heavily and turned to face him.

 

“Brother,” Brandon Stark greeted lightly, as if he were not just caught running away in the middle of the night, “What brings you home?” His elder brother questioned. He had just arrived from the Vale of Arryn, on bequest of his father, who was worried Brandon would do something stupid. Whatever he had just interrupted definitely qualified as stupid.

 

“You” He told him honestly, leaning against the door frame as he watched his brother drop the sack and move into the room, “I just managed to talk Robert out of his foolish plan, and now I have to do the same for you,”

 

“I thought Robert was enthralled with a Targaryen as well,” Brandon bit back, a note of disgust in his tone. He had never liked how quickly Robert was able to change his affections. But that was Robert. And though he gave his affections so loosely and freely, he genuinely cared for many a person, the entirety of the Stark family for one. 

 

“He and Shaena are very happy with their betrothal,” Ned answered diplomatically. He knew that the King had only offered his sister to his cousin as a way to lessen the blow of his taking of Lyanna. It was a peace offering. It helped of course that Shaena Targaryen was a beautiful woman, and that Robert had a liking for beautiful women, “But it does not mean he is not unhappy with the perceived betrayal. He was determined to march on the capital and demand a duel from his cousin,”

 

“It isn’t like father had approved of that betrothal yet anyways, Ned. Tell Robert to be happy with his princess of a bride,” Brandon replied.

 

“But father did give his consent for your betrothal,” Ned reminded him. It was the main reason he was here afterall. He had to talk Brandon out of this foolish idea. If he went South to be a knight to watch over their sister, he would break the betrothal between their house and House Tully, “Or did you forget about that?”

 

“Marriage isn’t for me, Ned,” Brandon told him with a grin, “I’m not the settling done, having children type,”

 

“You made a promise to her,”

 

“I made a promise to Lya, Ned. I promised that I would protect her,”

 

‘From who, Brandon? We are in a supposed time of peace?”

 

‘You know that the capital will never be at peace, brother. The Mad King might be dead, but what happens when that madness enters the new King? What happens when he starts to treat our sister like Queen Rhaella was treated? Or another house decides to rebel?” Brandon wondered. 

 

“No one will ever make the mistake of another Duskendale. They were foolish to try it the first time, they should have known a second would mean sure death,” The first defiance, the one that took place in 277, was squashed quickly. The head of House Darklyn was executed and the rest of the family was forgiven after paying a large tax. No one could have foreseen another rebellion by the same house. It happened two years ago. They rose up against the still high taxes. The King, furious at yet another rebellion, marched on the port city with only two kingsguard members and a handful of city guards, against the wishes of his Hand, and son. To make a long story short, the king was killed, House Darklyn was destroyed, and Prince Rhaegar became King Rhaegar.

 

“They killed the king. The guards let him die. I will not let anything like that happen to Lya, Ned,”

 

“The King was mad. It was a blessing in disguise,” He retorted. He had heard stories from Robert of the King though he had never met him in person. He had met Prince Rhaegar a couple of times, and the man seemed sane. 

 

“Then Queen Elia. Lyanna will not end up like Elia Martell,” Brandon spoke furiously, determined now to prove that his plan was solid. He did not blame his brother. The Dornish bride of King Rhaegar had been murdered shortly after the birth of her second child, Prince Aegon, and the death of King Aerys. The Kingswood Brotherhood kidnapped, raped, and left her for dead in the woods. That was last year. And now his their little sister was marrying the King, against the wishes of her family and the realms. Most thought it too soon, too crass for the two to marry so quickly. He tended to agree, but it was mostly because she was his little sister.

 

“Then I will go, I will protect her,” He knew that his sister needed someone with her in the capital, but it did not have to be Brandon. His brother had a duty to Winterfell and to Catelyn Tully, his betrothed. He himself had no such duty. He was the second son after all.

 

“No, Ned, the capital is no place for someone like you. You belong in the North, not me. You will make an honorable Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North. You will keep honor and duty alive in this frozen hell,” Brandon joked at the end, smiling, “And you will marry Catelyn Tully in my stead,”

 

“I cannot-”

 

“It is already done, Ned. I’ve written to Lord Hoster and to Lady Catelyn. I have offered my deepest apologies on this dissolution and betrayal to our pact. I pleaded with them to accept you as you are now the new Lord of Winterfell once father is dead,”

 

“He will keel soon if you continue with this foolish plan, Brandon” 

 

‘No, he will be relieved. He was never keen on having me as his heir, his successor. He knew that I would ruin this place. I am not fit to be a lord of some castle. I was not born for that. I was born for a sword, Ned. I know that,”

 

“What does Lya have to say about all this, Brandon? I cannot imagine her wanting a protector," His sister knew how to protect herself. She was a fierce Northern wolf as the common folk like to say. She had a touch of wild in her, just like Brandon. In truth he had never imagined his elder brother settling down, but he had hoped for it. They had made a promise after all. Their father had promised Brandon to a southern House, promised that he would marry a southern lord's daughter. Catelyn Tully was a beautiful lady, but she was of the South. She was gentle bred, a delicate river fish not fit for the North, or so nearly everyone said. He had thought Brandon had cared for the girl though. They had met before and Ned was certain his brother enjoyed the redheads company. Lya had gagged over it, of course. Lya and Catelyn were complete opposites.

 

"She wrote that I would make a fine knight, actually. Most of her letter was more of a rant against me offering you to Lord Hoster. Apparently she is not yet over the perceived slight of Lady Catelyn's comment on her dress," Brandon laughed. Lady Catelyn had seemed horrified at the state of their sister at their arrival in Riverrun. Her face had given it away, but she had kindly asked if Lyanna would like to borrow a more suitable dress. Of course, Lyanna had been pissed and wore breeches the rest of the day in retaliation. That last year, before her marriage to the King, but apparently she had not forgiven her, "And of course she still has not forgiven father for trying to arrange her a marriage as he did for I,"

 

"If her marriage is all just an act of rebellion-"

 

"She cares for the King, Ned. He likes that she is able to wield a sworn and race on horseback with him. He likes her strength. She writes that he has offered to find her a trainer to hone her skills, and that he gifted her with armor for their wedding," The wedding that none of her family had even gone to. She had not invited them, only writing after it was all said and done. She was lucky Brandon had kept his head. He could picture his brother threatening the king for a duel just as Robert had, though his brother did not have the added benefit of sharing blood with the King.

 

"That does not mean you have to leave here, Bran," He knew his attempt was fruitless. He knew a lost battle when he saw one. Brandon was going to King's Landing and there was nothing he could do to prevent it. 

 

“I am sorry, Ned, for all of it,” Brandon told him one last time before he grabbed his sack from the ground and hopped over the railing without a second word. He heard the sound of his brother hitting the snow beneath them, and then the tell tale sound of hooves. By the time he reached the railing to look out, his brother was already at the gate, leaving the castle.

 

His head was spinning as he sat on his brothers bed, sighing heavily. In the span of six months he had lost his mother to ague, his sister to the capital city, his best friend to his bride, and now his brother to the same city as his sister. He had just Benjen left, who was already eager to join the Night's Watch, and a father that was aging slowly but surely, eager to pass off the duties of lordship to a son that had no intention of staying. A lordship that now he had apparently inherited, along with the possibility of a southern wife that his beloved sister hated, and a brother that his new wife would surely soon hate. He almost hoped for his sake that Lord Hoster would decline the switch and just start a century long feud instead. For if Lord Hoster and Lady Catelyn approved of it all, he would marry her. His honor would not allow him to run like Brandon had. He would marry his brother's betrothed while his brother played white knight in the capital city and his sister played queen. 

 

 


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter- start of the feast! One final down, one to go. After that, I expect to update more frequently again. Thank you for all the reviews! I love hearing what everyone thinks of Lyanna. I'm not trying to make her evil, per se, just over protective. Think helicopter/tiger mom. Enjoy this short piece!

She freshened up in her chambers with the help of her maid, who complimented her on winning and the prettiness of the crown. After confirming that the crown and the gown she had planned to wear were not compatible, her maid and she set out to find the new perfect gown. She had quite the array in her wardrobe.

 

They decided on a gown that was not so typical. In the North, high necks and long bell sleeves were fashionable. In the south, it was the corseted look, and in the far south, it was gauzy material that the Princess had brought over from Essos. This gown was a mix of the three, made of sinfully soft light grey silk. It had a square neckline that was embroidered with a darker grey and little gems. The sleeves were long but loose, made of a gauze like material, light enough to wear in the south without over heating. They draped nicely over her shoulder but then were split, so that if she were to raise her arm, she would expose bare skin. It had a corset that was rather tight, and the skirt split down the middle to reveal an under layer of grey paisley brocade. The skirt itself was made of light weight material, material was would look splendid dancing. It was impractical for the North, but it was warm enough in Storm’s End to wear such a thing. She had probably had it made for that reason. It sort of reminded her of Margaery's dresses in the old realm, but a bit less revealing in the bust area.

 

She hated having to remove her crown to let the maid fix her hair, but it was necessary.  Her hair was brushed out and parted in the middle, hanging freely.  The flower crown would be decoration enough. The maid secured it with a few pins just encase. She dabbed perfume oil behind her ears, on her wrists, and neck before running a bit of it through her curls for shine. Her maid deemed her fit to be a princess, ironic words, and then she was heading towards the main hall with her family by her side. They were all dressed in forms of grey, even her mother who usually favored maroon and navy.

 

The feast itself blurred by with a dazzling multi course menu, complete with lemon cakes and lemon tarts. The lemon chicken, as Arya had promised would be part of the menu, was to die for. The lemons had to have been imported straight from Dorne because they were that fresh. Robb laughed at her but still shared half of his lemon treats because he knew how much she enjoyed them. Rickon told her that she was going to turn into a lemon should she eat anything more with the tart fruit. She laughed because it was what they told him when he ate too many sweets. 

 

When it came time for the first dance, Arya and Gendry took the floor. A few seconds into the dance, and the King and Queen joined them. Then Jon was seeking her out and pulling her onto the dance floor with a rare smile. Both had forgone gloves in the warm of the South, so she could feel the callouses on the hand that held hers and the heat that burned through the material of her dress from the other. She felt her heart race as he twirled her easily across the floor. His dancing was much improved in this realm, and her heart broke a tiny bit because she missed the awkward Jon that she had once danced with in the snowy fields of war.

 

_ "Come now, Jon, please," She begged as she dragged him towards the bonfire where the rest of the slightly drunk soldiers were dancing with the villagers. There was snow on the ground, but it was not actively snowing. The air was actually quite warm for the season, hence the party. They had happened upon the small remains of the village yesterday. It was good timing. Half of the men were frozen solid and the other half were starving. They made camp and traded what little they could for food and blankets. They were lucky that the villagers were so so kind and accommodating. Jon said it was because of her, because she looked like a Tully. They were in the Riverlands, close to the North now. _

 

_ "Sansa, you know I cannot" _

 

_ "Cannot or will not?" She grumbled, succeeding in dragging him an inch closer to the festivities. One of the villagers had a flute, and one of the soldiers had a drum. They had started off with some bawdy pub song, enticing a few people into dancing. Some of the younger, drunker men were dancing in circles with each other, cheering and laughing. The spirit was light and happy. It had been a long time since it was as such, "Your men need to see that you are capable of smiling," _

 

_ Everyone thought Jon was so serious and taciturn, and he was of course, but he could be light hearted too. He was too young to look so serious all of the time. A few friends of his, those closer then the common soldier, had remarked how different Jon was now that she was with them, but the lesser men did not see that change. She heard whispers about them thinking he was dead inside, how the magic had only brought his body back, not his soul. It hurt her to think they thought such things about Jon. He cared for his men, all of them. He just wanted them to make it. He worried constantly over their state of nutrition, their injuries, etc.  _

 

 

_ "For me, Jon? Please? I haven't danced in ages," She batted her lashed at him. She watched him gulp. _

 

_ "One dance," Jon told her, looking serious. She smiled despite his tight lipped look, and nodded. It had been too long since she had danced for pleasure with anyone as well. She put his hand on her hip, and hers on his shoulder, lifting their connected hands up as she led them into a few simple steps. Of course as soon as they noticed who had joined their dancing, some jester suggested a new song, and The Bear and Maiden fair was being played as everyone danced. Instead of scowling though, Jon actually cracked a smile, twirling her under his arm. It was stilted and a bit awkward, but it was endearing. He was trying, for her. _

 

This new Jon needed no encouragement to dance. He was smooth and graceful, like he had been dancing for years. She felt bittersweet about it all. But then this new Jon smiled at her like the old Jon did and found more hope that it would all work out, that it would all be okay. He spun her effortlessly through the chords, and when the rest of the guests joined in, he moved closer towards the walls of the ballroom and out of the center. So different and yet so similar, she thought.

 

“You dance quite well, my prince,” She commented as they reached the quieter, less populated area. Most of the party was focused on Arya and Gendry, who were laughing and messing up the dance in the middle of the floor. They were making a spectacle of themselves, but neither seemed to care. 

 

“As do you, my lady,” Jon told her sincerely, pulling her a fraction of an inch closer. She could feel the heat of his body radiating against hers. 

 

"You are always so warmth," She remarked, watching as his grey eyes sparkled with mirth. He chuckled.

 

"Targaryen," He reminded her, though she could never forget, "And you are always chilled,"

 

"Stark" She echoed, grinning. His grey eyes sparkled in mirth at her teasing.  He was just about to speak again when the song started to die down. He gave her a rueful grin and pulled away, bowing.

 

“Lord Rickon is heading over to claim your next set, my lady. I suppose I shall have to wait until the last set to see you again,” He told her. It could have been her imagination but she could have sworn he sounded disappointed over it. 

 

“I am not engaged for any others, your Grace,” She murmured coyishly.

 

“Duly noted, my lady. I shall attempt to seek you out beforehand. I would be remiss to let a lovely lady like you go without a dance partner,” He told her, lifting her hand to place a chaste kiss on the top of her hand. He held her eyes as he did so. She wanted to tug him forward and press her lips to his instead of this chaste hand kissing.  Her cheeks flushed at her own thoughts. 

 

“Quite right,” She answered with a shaky voice. Rickon was then there, and Jon scampered off to dance with Dany, who was waving him over discretely. The princess looked beautiful in a lilac gown that complimented her eyes. It was strange to see the powerful Khaleesi dressed in a gown so innocent.

 

Rickon was not quite the dancer their mother wished him to be, but she had fun letting him stand on her toes and twirl around the ballroom floor. He twirled far too often for the song that was being played, but he enjoyed it most of all. He would only be little enough to dance like this for a short amount of time, so she enjoyed what time she had left. When that song came to an end, Robb sought her out. Rickon raced off to have fun elsewhere, and Robb danced easily across the beautiful marble floor.

 

“You and Jon seem to be getting closer, sister,” He commented as they danced easily. She had forgotten how easy dancing came to him. He had been a splendid dancer in the old world, her favorite partner when they practiced. He was always so gallant about it too, until she decided at the age of ten that she was much too old for pretend balls. She would have given anything in the last realm to dance once more with him, pretend ball or not.

 

“And?” She prompted, wondering where he was going with it.

 

“And nothing. It was just an observation,” Robb replied simply, “Though I did observe something else. You and Lady Margaery seem to be distant. I expected to find the two of you whispering in the corner,”

 

“Do you wish for us to be closer?” She questioned. Robb gave a short bark of laughter.

 

“Heavens, no,’ Robb answered, “But you two were inseparable at the tourney in Riverrun, such fast friends,”

 

“I told you, brother, I am not that girl anymore. I do not wish to scheme and plot with Margaery. I do not want to play her stupid games anymore,”

 

‘Good,” Robb nodded, “Have I told you how lovely you look this evening, sister?” He changed the subject as he twirled her around.

 

“You have not, how impolite of you,” She scoffed.

 

“You look lovely, dear sister,” He told her dramatically as the song ended. He bowed ridiculously low, and she laughed, curtsying over the top for him, “I think father approaches for your hand,”

 

“Mayhap he wishes to dance with you, brother,” She replied. Robb chuckled and shook his head.

 

“I leave her in your capable hands, father,” Robb told their father as he approached, “I must be quick if I want to secure another beautiful dance partner,” 

 

“Your mother, perhaps,” Her father suggested as Robb disappeared. He offered his hand, which she took easily, smiling as he danced stiffly. He had not changed at all in this world. He was stoic and quiet still. No doubt just as honorable as well.

 

“You look beautiful, daughter,” He told her as they moved with the music. He knew the steps well enough but he was not relaxed in his dancing skills.

 

“Thank you, father,” She replied demurely, “Tis a beautiful feast. Uncle Robert has done a magnificent job,”

 

“Be sure to tell him that when he demands a dance, my dear,” He father advised as they turned, switching hands in the dance. They circled each other, their steps square like and even. This dance was more structured, which she was glad for. It was the perfect dance to dance with your father, “I am very proud of you, Sansa. I have always and will always be proud of you,” He stated when they were closer to each other again.

 

“I am thankful for that, father,” She replied thickly, her breath catching in her throat. He had no idea how much she needed to hear those words, in this world and the last. She knew of course that what had happened in the past realm had not been her fault or her father’s, but the people who betrayed them, but it was still so sweet to hear those words. She had betrayed her father, convinced him to confess. She knew that she was manipulated, and that she wasn't at fault. She knew it was Joffrey who killed him then, but she still felt guilt over it. She needed him to be proud of her in this realm, justified or not.

 

“You have turned into a beautiful, honorable young lady. I will admit, you had me worried for a while,”

 

‘I worried myself, father,” She replied casually, smiling at him. He laughed and tweaked her nose like he had done when she was just a child.

 

“A bout of youthful resistance, I suppose. You have the look of your mother, but I can see the Stark steel behind those blue eyes, my dear. You have changed much in just a moon’s turn. Tell me true, what was it that caused such a change?” 

 

“A dream,” She whispered, for that was what the old world now was, “A terrible nightmare of a life, father. And it was real to me. It was as real as a wolf dream,”

 

“A wolf dream,” Her father whispered, “A touch of the Sight,” He murmured to himself.

 

“Perhaps, I am a Stark after all,” She answered his thoughts, “Or perhaps a magic like one we’ve yet to see,” She added. Clearly her father knew what wolf dreams were but he seemed unaware that she had that ability.

 

“And what happened in this dream that was so horrible, daughter?” He questioned lightly. He was taking her serious, which was something. She had worried that her talk of magic would dissuade him. Perhaps he knew that magic existed still. The Targaryen’s rode dragons, after all, “What did you see?”

 

“Death,” She answered honestly, her voice nothing more then a whisper,“All I dreamt of was death,” The song ended then and they parted hands. Her father was still looking at her though, a queer look upon his face. She wondered if he knew or had heard about creatures beyond the wall. She wondered if they existed in this realm. She hoped not, though she supposed with the surplus of dragons that it would be easier to defeat them. She wanted no war though, magic or not.

 

“I want to hear more about this dream, Sansa,” He told her seriously, “After the wedding, we will speak more of it,”

 

“Of course, father,” She nodded. He nodded back and stepped off, leaving her on the ballroom floor. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a familiar head of blonde approaching. She scanned the area quickly, searching for anyone to align herself with first, anyone at all really. She would have settled for a man twice her age and leery, but she found no one. She took a breath and steeled herself for it. She could do it. She could face him, put it behind her finally. He was not the same vile creature, but it could still give her the closure she needed. She forced a smile onto her face and turned to face him.

 


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this took forever to update, so I apologize. Enjoy the next chapter and Merry Christmas!

“Lady Sansa,” Joffrey was before her, a practiced smile on his Lannister face, “May I have this dance?” He questioned politely, smiling gently at her. She wanted him to sneer and insult her. She wanted to feel justified in her feelings of anger and hatred.  But this was not King Joffrey Baratheon, this was just Lord Joffrey Lannister, heir to Jaime Lannister if what she had heard was true. Apparently the Lannister’s pulled a Targaryen and married each other. She heard whispers of it from the household staff though she had yet to totally confirm it. She had no polite way to decline his offer or question his parenthood, so she nodded stiffly.

“You may, Lord Joffrey,” She answered, allowing him to hold her hand and lead her deeper into the dancing. She kept herself rigid and proper as they danced. When he tried to move in closer, she moved back. His smile became more and more strained as the song went on. 

 

“You look radiant, my lady,” He told her after a moment of pained silence.

 

“Thank you, my lord,” She replied politely, a frozen smile on her face, “I was sorry to hear of your grandfather’s illness. He has my prayers, of course,” Prayers for a long painful death. Even if Tywin Lannister was a saint in this realm, she would not forgive him, not for the Red massacre that he orchestrated. She could forgive many a thing in this new realm since they technically were not the same, but never that, never him. For all the pain that Joffrey had caused her, she hated his grandfather more.

‘Thank you, my lady,” Joffrey replied, “He is strong, he will prevail,” He told her as they went, “Tywin Lannister will not be bested by a simple cold, or so my mother says,”

“No, I should think not,” He deserved something far more gruesome and painful. He deserved an arrow to the stomach while he sat on his golden chamber pot, the betrayal of a son that only ever wished to please him, “Do tell her that I said hello, your mother, and that I send my regards” She added.

 

“She will be most pleased to hear that, my lady,” He replied easily, “She was of course quite disappointed to have to miss the event of the season, as was my younger brother. You remember Tommen, yes? I believe you met at the Riverrun tourney,”

 

“Of course, he is a dear little boy,” She murmured truthfully, “It seems as though that tourney was ages ago,” She hinted. 

 

“Only a little over a year,” Joffrey told her, “I am surprised you did not stay in Riverrun though, my lady, or travel further south to Highgarden with Lady Margaery. That was your plan, was it not?”

 

“At the time, yes,” She nodded though she had no idea as to what he spoke of, “But alas, plans change, my lord, perhaps it was not that great of a plan to begin with,”

 

“I found no fault with it, my lady,” He grinned, “To be kept mostly in the North for your entire life, only to see the sunshine of the south fifteen years later, tis only natural for you to want to stay. I was quite enthralled by you, I admit. So in wonder at the sights of the South, and so beautiful. Tis a shame you were not allowed to come to court sooner,”

 

“You are too kind, my lord,” She murmured, her mind fitting the pieces of the puzzle together in her head. She had been in the North for most of her life, that fit. She knew that in all realms that her father would try to keep them all together. He had only ever traveled South as a favor to Robert, fat lot of good it did him then. She had met Margaery and Joffrey at Riverrun last year for the first time apparently. But she knew that she had met Aegon more then once, along with Gendry. Perhaps she had never been out in public in the south. Family events only. 

“It is just the truth, my lady,” He answered as the song quieted down. She had never been more thankful for the end of such a beautiful ballad. He had tainted the song now, yet again.

“Thank you for the dance, my lord,” She curtsied, “If you would excuse me, I must find my future good brother before he is taken again,” She lied. Joffrey nodded, his smile still in place. She fled from him, heading towards the balcony for fresh air.

While this Joffrey was certainly no ray of sunshine or perfect angel, he was not the same cruel King as he had been in the past. He was still the son of incest, but apparently it was accepted better in this world. He was still false smiles and fake charm, with a hint of arrogance under the facade, but he was not he same. It was confusing and giving her a headache. She wanted to harm him but in this world, he was still innocent, or as innocent as a Lannister could be. She had no doubt that he would still hit a lady or demean those of lower status given the chance, but he did not have the power to do much else. 

_“Dobotēdāve kelio, j’aspo”_ She cursed in Valyrian, cursed Joffrey for being a stupid, ignorant lion.

“Lady Sansa?” King Rhaegar, Lord Robert, and her father were standing on the balcony. She had missed them completely. Her cheeks went redder then she imagined possible as she realized that she wasn’t alone. She curtsied fast, apologizing.

“Apologies, your grace, my lords. I did not see you,” She stammered. She had no idea how she had missed them in the first place. They were apparently escaping the ball and the dancing. It was something she could picture her father and Lord Robert doing, but not the King.

“It is alright, Lady Sansa,” The King looked like he was struggling not to laugh, “Your father did not tell me that you spoke Valyrian,”

“I was not aware that she did,” Her father answered, looking at her strangely.

“Just a few choice words, your Grace, father” She told them quickly, “Had I realized that I was not alone, I would not have spoken so freely. Do forgive me for my crassness,”

“It is forgiven. I feel the urge to say the same when in the presence of a few select kelios,” King Rhaegar gave her a smile grin. The rest of them did not speak Valyrian so they had no idea what she had said. That was for the best. She could not explain her hatred for the Lannister's to her father without sounding like a loon. There was no reason for her to hate them.

“Kirimkose, Dari,” She purposefully messed up thanking him to make it seem as if she was not as fluent as she truly was. 

“Kirimvose, my lady,” The King corrected gently, “Though I am impressed by your annunciation. It is impeccable,”

“Sansa has always had a fluid voice,” Her father told the King, “If only she put such work into speaking the old tongue as well,”

“Lohk mek?” She questioned, which meant, who me? She had not learned the old tongue instead she found that she simply knew it. Jon knew it as well. He said that he knew it the second wildlings spoke to him and he realized he could understand them. She guessed it had something to do with her wolf blood.

“Valryian sounds much prettier on your tongue, my dear,” Lord Robert chuckled, “Both are dead of course, so perhaps you could speak in the common tongue so your dear old uncle could understand,”

“Of course, Lord Robert,” She told him, speaking slowly. Her father chuckled, “I should head back inside, my lords, your Grace. I have intruded for long enough,”

“We do not blame you for requiring air. It is getting quite warm in there,” Lord Robert told her.

“It was already quite warm,” She replied, “As it is wont to be in the Stormlands,”

“Ah, a true Northerner,” Lord Robert laughed, “Anything less then snow is too hot for you Starks,” 

“Winter is coming, my lord,” She told him with a smile, “Pray excuse me. I shall return to the dancing now,”

She curtsied again and left the balcony, returning to the ballroom. She spotted Rickon sitting at a table by himself, looking bored as he flicked peas from a dish in front of him. She made her way to him.

“Rickon,” She greeted, ruffling his hair, “Would you dance with me again, little brother?” 

—————--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She successfully avoided Joffrey the rest of the night by dancing with her brothers, Bran and Rickon. She danced a set with Aegon and Gendry, but she mostly stuck with the two younger boys. When the last set was announced, she searched the crowd for Jon. She spotted him near his mother and frowned as the Queen appeared to be asking for the dance.  She sighed as her heart broken just a bit further. It appeared that she would not be dancing with him again. She searched the crowd for Rickon instead, hoping that he would enjoy one last twirl standing on her feet. He absent too though. How pathetic. She would be alone for the last dance. Instead of wallowing in self pity, she headed towards the door. If she was going to be alone for the last set, she would not stick around to watch. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! This story is starting to wind down as the wedding approaches, but fear not, another part will come soon after this one's end! I have about 6/7 chapters left in this that are written, just need a few tweaks. I hate to see it end, so I've been dragging chapters out a bit. Next chapter up on Sunday/Monday!


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day, and this one is a ball of fluff! Happy Holidays!

‘Lady Sansa,” Jon caught her wrist before she had taken two steps, “Did you forget about our last dance?” He questioned teasingly though he appeared concerned that she actually had. She smiled, shaking off the bad thoughts she had thought just moments before. He had not abandoned her for his mother. He kept his word, just as she should have known he would.

“Of course not, Prince Jon,” She replied easily, accepting his offered hand as he led her backs towards the ballroom floor, “I thought I saw your mother asking for the dance though. I was clearly mistaken,”

“No, you were not mistaken, she did indeed ask,” Jon told her as the music began. It was a strange song, one she really did not know, “It is a Dornish song, my lady,” Jon chuckled at her confusion, “Just follow my lead,” He whispered, tugging her closer to him. She was glad to be near. She could smell his familiar woodsy scent, though there was something different about it as well, something smokey. 

“Did Prince Aegon request this?” She questioned as she watched the elder prince dance jauntily with one of his cousins, the second eldest Sand Snake. She had long since forgotten the girls name.

“He did indeed,” Jon replied, “He wishes to impress his cousin, the Lady Nym,”

“She does not look impressed,” She laughed turning her attention back to Jon, “I am impressed though. You dance nearly as well as you joust, your Grace,”

“High praise, my lady,” Jon smiled, “I thank you, but your kind words are not needed” Ever so modest, she thought. Even as a prince.

“Tis but the truth,” She replied easily, “I should thank you for dancing twice with me. I am sure your dance card was filled to the brim,”

“Not nearly as full as yours, my lady,” Jon replied, “I am quite jealous though. It seems Rickon got to enjoy many a dance more then I,”

“You will have to make up for it at the feast tomorrow, your Grace,” She replied easily as they brushed against each other, far too intimately then any other Westerosi dance. The Dornish were expressive though, hot blooded and lusty. She expected nothing less from a dance from their region.

“I will take that as a challenge, my Lady,” He told her seriously. She stepped on his toe a second later, her face flushing in embarrassment. She apologized quickly, stumbling over her words. He just shook his head though.

“Do not fret over, it, my lady,” He told her, “It did not hurt, I swear,” She had trouble believing him though. The small heels to her fancy slippers were sharp and she had stepped quiet forcefully. 

“I am still sorry,” She told him, watching her feet instead of him. She had been too busy looking at his face a second ago. That was why she had missed the step. 

And then he deliberately stepped on hers, tripping over it and bumping into the couple dancing next to them.

“My apologies,” He told Lord Loras and Princess Arianne. She had not even noticed that they were so close to them, “I am butchering this lovely dance, am I not, Lady Arianne?” 

“You’ve no Dornish blood to your name, Prince Jaemon. Tis not your fault, I suppose,” The lady replied with a strange look to her eye.

“Still, my deepest apologies,” Jon told them.

“No harm, no foul, your Grace,” Lord Loras replied simply. Jon moved them further away from people. The dance was slowing down and coming to end. She could tell by the music’s ebbing.

“Did you do that to make me feel better?” She questioned quietly. 

“Did it work?” He wondered. She smiled and nodded. It had worked, and it had reminded her of her past Jon, the one that truly could not dance to save his life. It was endearing and adorable. She had loved that aspect of him. 

“It did, your Grace. Thank you,”

“You are quite welcome, my lady,” He replied, “I would embarrass myself everyday if it meant I got to see your beautiful smile,” He added. She felt her cheeks blush at his brazen compliment. She was about to say more, but the song finally came to a complete stop and then everyone was in a rush to leave the hall. 

“May I escort you back to your chambers, my lady?” Jon questioned, offering his elbow to her.

“You may, thank you, your Grace,” She replied as she took it. She tucked herself a bit closer then considered appropriate, but Jon did not comment on it. If anything, he pulled her closer yet.

“Your crown is lopsided,” He told her as they walked down the corridor, not many people headed their way. Most of the other guests were located in a different wing. She was glad for the privacy. She reached up to fix it, straighten it out. Jon grabbed her hand with his free one, “It looks nice lopsided,” He told her with a grin.

“Does it?” She teased, reaching forward to skew his. His dark curls were as soft as they had been in the previous world. She wanted to run her hands through it for hours, scratching at his scalp like he loved, but she didn’t. She made his crown lopsided and smiled. It looked adorable crooked in his curls like that, “Now we match,” She proclaimed.

“Well, how does mine look? Does it look as nice as yours?” He questioned.

“You look adorable, your Grace,” She told him.

“Adorable?” He dramatically intoned, “I am not sure any man would take adorable as a compliment, my lady. You wound me,”

“You look dashing, your Grace, regal and handsome as a prince should be,” She told him with a laugh, enjoying this strange playful side of this Jon, “Does that soothe your battered ego, Prince Jaemon?” 

“Oh, the full name, brother,” Aegon and Robb appeared out of no where, walking the opposite way. They had goblets of wine in their grasp, drunken smiles upon their faces, “You do look quite dashing with your crown lopsided like that,”

“No, not dashing. Adorable, I think that was the word that the lady used,” Robb laughed. Jon’s cheeks went pink as did the tips of his ears.

“I can say that you look adorable with your floral crown askew, Lady Sansa, but it is not a word I would use on my dour little brother,” Prince Aegon told her, “Though from the sounds of it, he has found a flair for the dramatics,”

“No doubt influenced by you, your Grace,” She commented slyly. 

“Ah, you have gotten witty, my lady,” Prince Aegon quipped, “What say you join Robb and I as we enjoy a night cap with the fresh ocean air?” He questioned.

“Oh, if you are bringing my sibling, I am bringing yours,” Robb told his friend, “Come, both of you. Sans and I will drink to the loss of our sister and you two can drink to whatever you please, perhaps your new love of drama”

Which is how she found herself getting tipsy off of wine in the Godswood of Storms-end, the cool sea breeze chilling her wine heated blood. She and Jon passed a goblet between them, the arbor gold thick and cloying, strong and sweet. It was clearly a good vintage. The boys bantered back and forth about the tourney, while she rested her head against Ghost. Lady had her head in her lap, content to just be there. Greywind sat near Robb, snoring. The wolves had joined them about halfway through their flagon of wine. It was nearly empty now.

 

“Tis a very strange drinking party, is it not, Ned?” 

“Aye, it is,” They all startled and struggled to their feet at the sound of her father and Ser Brandon. Jon, ever the gentleman, offered her his hand as he stood before her. She took it, allowing herself to be pulled up onto wobbly feet.

“Father,” Her and Robb both greeted as Aegon and Jon greeted Ser Brandon with stilted versions of his name. Her father looked them over, and then spied the goblets on the ground, along with the empty flagon.

“Technically we are all adults, Lord Stark,” Aegon told him, “Though I shall take most of the blame for it was my idea,”

“You are not in trouble, your Grace,” Her father told him, though her father had no authority over Aegon nor Jon, “You are just needed back in the castle. Your absence has been noticed,”

“You mean the Queen noticed Jon’s absence,” Aegon retorted. Ser Brandon snorted while her father sighed.

“No, it was Lady Sansa’s absence that was noted by my lady wife, who investigated further and heard that she was last seen being escorted back to her chambers by a prince, though the maid was fuzzy on which prince it was,”

“Nothing occurred, my lord. I swear to it,” Jon replied instantly. “I escorted her back to the guest wing, where we met with Aegon and Lord Robb. That is it,”

“Relax, Jon, I am not accusing you of anything, lad’ Her father smiled faintly “Truly, none of you are in trouble. You are young, you are drinking in the Godswood. Heavens know Lya, Brandon, and I were caught in the same position many a time, usually with Lord Robert or a Karstark,”

‘Those were the days, eh brother?” Ser Brandon sighed.

“That they were,” Her father sighed again, “But those days are long gone, and I am far too old to be awake at this hour when we all have a big day ahead of us on the morrow. Let us all adjourn to our beds before Lya really does notice your absence,”

“Yes, uncle,” Jon replied immediately.

“Robb, Prince Aegon, I believe you were the ones to steal the wine and goblets from the feast. You will return the empty flagon and goblets to their rightful place lest you leave them here and desecrate holy land,”

‘Of course, father,” Robb picked them up quickly, shoving some at Prince Aegon. 

“Jon, would you finish escorting my daughter back to her chambers? Your uncle and I have one more wolfling to track down,”

“Of course, uncle,” Jon replied, nodding quickly.

“He gets the enjoyable task, while we are regulated to kitchen wenches,” Aegon grumbled.

‘Be thankful it is not the Queen that found you getting her son drunk or your task would be much more painful, Prince Aegon,” Ser Brandon replied cheerfully, “Or Prince Viserys. Imagine the horror,”

They all walked out of the Godswood together, but split up to go their separate ways once they reached the castle. Ghost and Lady followed behind her and Jon as they walked the rather long distance back to their chambers.

“Are you even awake, my lady?” Jon questioned after she was silent for a few minutes. She could hear the smile in his tone. He was teasing her. She knew she had been leaning heavily against him as her lids grew heavier in her drowsy state.

“No, I am sleep walking,” She mumbled, her head against his shoulder.

“I shall need to carry you if you fall any further into sleep, my lady,” He warned. It sounded like a divine idea. 

“I’m awake,” She mumbled again, yawning this time and tripping on her own feet. Jon laughed at her openly.

“Only a few more steps, my lady,” He told her as he stopped outside of her chamber door. She had not realized that she had traveled this far. She must have actually dozed off a bit as she walked, “Here we are,”

“Here we are,” She echoed, grinning sleepily at him. His grey eyes were bright with wine and his smile was easy and genuine. She had never seen such a Jon, not even in the old world. Wine and ale was scarce in times of war. She rather liked the relaxed, drunken Jon.

His crown had been removed sometime during their time in the Godswood. She couldn’t help it, she reached up and ran her hand through his soft curls, smiling when his eyes closed and he sighed in contentment, leaning into her touch.

“I’ve wanted to do that for ages,” She whispered softly. His grey eyes opened, blinking lazily at her. With her hand still tangled in his hair, he reached up and smoothed a lock of hair behind her ear, his hand caressing down over her cheek, cupping it gently.

He kissed her then, soft and sweet. It was chaste and quick, but it was everything she needed. A spark of fire ran through her, warming her instantly just as it had in the past world when they first kissed. He shivered, a coldness no doubt splashing over him.

“I’ve wanted to do that for ages,” He repeated her words.

“Then I am glad we both finally acted on our desires,” She told him softly.

“As am I,” He replied, “I should leave you now, lest I do something else completely untoward and un gallant,”

“You could never,” She told him with a smile, “But perhaps you are right. Until tomorrow, Jon,” She whispered.

“Sweetest dreams, Sansa,” He replied, kissing her hand before leaving her standing at the door. 

He had called her Sansa.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry it's late! I went on a surprise trip and only just got back. This chapter is Jon's POV so enjoy!

Prince Jaemon Targaryen

Storm’s End

Guest Wing

 

His heart was beating erratically as he left her by her chamber door, his breathing labored. He had never felt such a thing. It was like ice was over taking his usually fiery veins. He felt alive and more alert, the haziness from the wine instantly gone. All he could focus on now was her. Ever since he caught sight of her the day they arrived, the same moment when he passed out, it was impossible not to think of her. He had met his cousin a handful of times before, and never before had he been interested. Objectively he knew his cousin was a beautiful girl and he knew his brother desired something between the two of them, but he had never seen as more then a distant cousin. Arya was the one he was closest to, and that was just a sibling like bond. But now, now Sansa was all he could think of. His mind was overwhelmed the feeling of her soft, cool lips against his own.

 

And the thought that he had had the gall to do such a thing.

 

“Jon, what are you still doing up?” His uncle, _her father_ , interrupted his thoughts. He instantly stilled and felt the guilt seep into his bones. He had just dishonored this man’s daughter. It was a small dishonor, but still one. 

 

“I wish to ask your permission to court Lady Sansa,” He found himself saying, to both his surprise and his uncles’, “Lord Stark,” He tacked on at the end, realizing how rude he had sounded just then, “Uncle Ned,” He cursed his awkward self. Never once had he called his uncle Lord Stark. Ever since he could remember it had been Uncle Ned. Even in court and in the presence of other nobles, it was Uncle Ned. He had to call Uncle Brandon ser sometimes, but it was always Uncle Ned. 

 

“How much did you have to drink, lad?” His uncle questioned kindly, looking wary and tired. The man was marrying off a daughter tomorrow, no wonder he was wary. He should not have sprung this on his uncle at this moment. It was unfair of him to do so.

 

“I am not drunk, my lord,” He told him seriously, looking his uncle straight in the eye, “I wish to court your daughter, Lady Sansa” He repeated.

 

“Have you spoken to your father or mother on this, Jon?” His uncle questioned, turning them around so that they were both now walking towards his chambers. He knew his uncle’s were behind them, closer to Sansa’s. Lady Sansa’s, he corrected himself. He had been bold to call her by her given name. He was either lucky she allowed it or lucky she did not hear him. 

 

“You know how my mother feels about anyone that is not Arya, uncle,” He sighed. He had not thought directly about that. His mother was not quiet in her disapproval of Sansa though she was quiet in her reasons. No one, at least those that he spoke with, seemed to know why Lady Sansa was the object of her ire. He could think of dozens of other ladies of the court to zero in on, ones that were much more ostentatious and wanton, but his mother chose her own niece, who by court standards was quiet innocent,  “Besides, I am not the heir. I can marry whom I please,” He told him, then realized his mistake, “I mean court,” He corrected quickly.

 

“And why do you wish to court my daughter, Jon?” His uncle questioned, skipping over the mistake he had made. He was grateful for it for he had no explanation at hand. It had simply slipped out. 

 

“Why?” He echoed. He could not even think of all the reasons he had, “She is not like any other lady I have met, Lord Stark. She is beautiful, both inside and out. She is easy to speak with and understands life in a way I do not. She is kind and intelligent, but strong and protective of her family. I know many say she is like Lady Stark, a southern lady, but I can see the ice behind her eyes and the steel in her spine,” His words were far more poetic then he had planned, but it was the truth. Plain and simple, he felt a connection between the two of them. He felt comfortable and at ease with her in a way he did not even feel with his siblings most of the time. There was just something so easy about being beside her. He had never felt so confident that he was in the right place then when he stood with her. As he said it aloud, he realized how true it was, how he had grown accustomed to the lady in such a short span on time.

“Is that all?” His uncle questioned quietly. They were approaching his chamber’s now, and guard’s were around. Most were quite loyal to their privacy, but some favored his mother and her favor over the privacy of others. 

 

“I simply wish to get to know her more, Lord Stark, I find myself incapable of thinking of anything but her. I find myself seeking her out, if only to hear her voice or her laughter, to see her smile in joy or frown in displeasure,” He was quite fond of her mouth, not that he would tell his uncle that, “I cannot say that I love her, for I barely know her, but I want to know her, I want the chance to know her,” He rambled on. It was the truth though. He did not love her, yet, but he could see himself loving her. He wondered when that had happened. Perhaps if he had made more of an attempt to speak with her when they were younger, he found have found the same connection. 

But they had not. The few times that they had spent together as a family were few and far between. They were no more then distant cousins in the past. A polite hello and they were both off to mingle with their own groups. Perhaps it was for the best though. He was a Targaryen but he would never think of marrying his sister, or Arya, who was like a sister. A distant cousin was a better match. 

“Well, I am glad to here that, Jon. You two have only been close for the past three days, much too soon to ask for a betrothal,” Lord Stark sighed, smiling faintly, “She is my first born daughter, Jon, my little girl. I will not take this request lightly,” He warned. He knew of no one who ever request something like he had and not take it lightly. 

“I do not take it lightly either, my lord,” He told him seriously, “I would not have asked if I did not wish to take it seriously. A lady is not something to play with and discard,”

“Good,” His uncle nodded but said no more.

“Does that mean you will allow me to court her?” He questioned cautiously, not daring to get his hopes up quite yet. He never dared to hope too much. It was easier that way. Compared to Aegon, he always seemed to be second best, save for when Sansa, no Lady Sansa, was around. She brought out the best in him, yet another reason to get to know her better.

“It means that I will speak to your father on the matter, Jon, but not right now and probably not tomorrow. Let me process the loss of one daughter before I start preparing to lose another, lad,” He gripped his shoulder, “I know that you are a good man, Jon. I would be honored to see a match between you and Sansa, and if you were not a prince, I would have said yes immediately. But you are a prince, and it is not solely our decision to make,”

“I understand, uncle,” He nodded, “I must confess something else though, for I fear the guilt will eat me alive if I do not,” He had to be honest with his uncle. The man was giving him a chance, he deserved honesty.

“Have at it, Jon,” The man told him, “I daresay nothing more can surprise me tonight,”

“I kissed her, Lord Stark,” He blurted out like the green boy that he was. Aegon would have a good laugh over it if he ever found out. He doubted his uncle would tell him though. 

“You kissed her?” His uncle looked at him blankly.

‘Lady Sansa, my lord. I kissed her, just now,”

“Yes, I understood that, Jon,” His uncle chuckled slightly, ‘And did Lady Sansa reject you?”

‘No, my lord,”

“Then I suppose you do not have to feel guilty, Jon. Your uncles and I stole many a kiss from young maidens before we were married,” He looked almost nostalgic, “Though I find I am having mixed feelings on the matter now as it was my daughter involved,” He turned his gaze to a glare, watching him intently. He tried to keep his face impassive, his uncle was quite intimidating.

He kept silent as his uncle thought it over, staring into his soul. 

“Well, what is done, is done, Jon,” His uncle finally told him, softening his glare, “Do not do it again, lest you wish to dishonor her. Remember that it is not your reputation at risk, but hers. She will be the one to suffer the consequences of any untoward behavior” His words were serious and tinged with a touch of sadness. He knew of the unkind things that were still said about his mother and father. Most, especially those in Dorne, blamed his mother. There was little truth in the gossip, but some bits were true. His mother did her best to keep her head held high and still be a fitting queen, but it wore away at her, he knew that. 

“Of course, Lord Stark. I would never wish to do such a thing,” He replied quickly. His uncle sighed again and shook his head. The poor man had sighed more then smiled today he feared. 

“You remind me far too much of myself Jon,” He told him as they reached his chambers, “I will speak with your father on the matter, I promise you that. Until then, get some sleep. Tomorrow is going to be a long day,”

“It will be, but it shall be interesting,”

“That it shall. Goodnight, Jon,”

‘Goodnight, Uncle,”


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Wedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so warning, this is mostly a filler chapter. It doesn't have much going on Jon/Sansa wise, but is still essential to the story as it is the wedding scene. After this will be the wedding feast, and then one more chapter. Yes, only two chapters left to this story! Please enjoy this chapter, and let me know what you think :)

 

_Her knees were soaked and frozen from kneeling in the snow for so long. There was blood everywhere. It dripped from her hands, left freckles of red across her cheeks, and soaked through the front of her tunic, warm and thick. Satin laid dead in her lap, his mischievous eyes dull, looking but not seeing. He was dead. He had stepped in front of her during the battle, shielding her with his own body. The sword had slashed through the leathers on his chest. He had had no time to put on his metal armor. The attack was well planned by their opponents, quick and deadly for all._

_Satin had fallen, pressing his gloveless hands to his bleeding chest, the blood seeping through. He had tried to tell her to run away, blood splattering from his mouth as he choked on it, but she ran to him instead. A split second before she had met the same end as Satin, Ghost was tearing into their attacker, mercilessly gnawing on his exposed neck. She had not even felt him approach. With the threat gone, she focused on Satin, begging him to hang on. She tried so hard to stop the bleeding as she yelled for help, but it was for nothing._

_He was gone._

_“Sansa!” Jon had been separated from them during the attack. She had been with Satin in the middle of the camp while Jon was with a few of his men at the northern perimeter, the same perimeter in which the attackers must have broken through, for they came from that direction. She hadn’t seen him in hours. She feared him dead with all the others. When Ghost had saved her, she thought for sure Jon was gone. The wolf never strayed far from Jon, “Sansa!” He repeated, desperately searching for her._

_“Jon!” She staggered to her feet, carefully lying Satin on the soft snow. She righted herself just in time for Jon to wrap her up in a bone crushing embrace, holding tightly to her as if his life depended on it. He was alive though. He was alive and solid and so very warm. She could feel his heart beating erratically in his chest, feel the uneven fall of his rapid breaths on the crown of her head.  And then suddenly his lips were on hers, his hands threading through her tangled locks. He pulled away quickly, looking guilty._

_“I’m s-”_

_She sealed her lips back to his before he could even utter an apology or take it back._

_———————————————————————————————————————_

The day started with tears, ugly gut wrenching tears. 

She woke up on the morning of her sister’s wedding from her dream with red puffy eyes and a heavy heart. Her first kiss in the previous realm had been scarred with death and blood. But in this realm, their first kiss was perfect. It was marked with happiness and smiles, hopefully a good omen.  But yet she still cried when she awoke. She still missed her original Jon.

Her maid entered as she wiped the last of the wetness from her eyes, but the puffy red skin remained. The girl gave her a small smile, offering her a basin of frigid water and a cloth to reduce the swelling.

“Tis hard to lose a sister, my lady,” The maid offered kindly as she filled the bath with salts and oils. She must have been filling it for the past hour. The girl was quiet, efficient, “But she will happy here. The Lords Baratheon are gruff, quiet men but they are truly decent,” 

“I know that they are, and that Lady Arya shall be very happy here,” She murmured as she disrobed, “But I shall miss her nonetheless,” 

‘I am sure that you are always welcome to visit,” The maid told her softly as she held her hair up to prevent the curls from getting wet. She had no time to dry them this morning. The hot water washed over her skin, calming her instantly. Any emotion she still felt from the dream ebbed away with the calming water, “I shall fetch you something to break your fast, my lady. I am afraid that your bath must be quick this morning,”

“I know. My sister shall come barreling through the doors in a rage over her gown and the laces if I dally too long,” The maid laughed as she left her. She sunk further into the warm water, letting it soothe her. Arya was getting married today. It was bittersweet for her. In the previous realm Arya had not made it this far in life. She had never married or even seen her 14th name day, so far as she knew. But now she finally got to see a sibling married. She would get to see such joy on their faces, joy that their previous selves had never experienced. No doubt her brother was fond of his wife in the last realm, but she had never known her and him together. She did not think their wedding was filled with as much joy as they deserved due to war. 

“Lady Sansa?” Her maid was already back, a tray of food in her small grasp. She had grown rather fond of her maid. She was very good at her job.

“Apologies, I was lost in thought,” She murmured as she picked up the sponge at the edge of the tub, soaking it and scrubbing herself raw. The maid offered to help, but she could bathe herself. She asked instead that the maid go see if Arya was awake yet. The girl scurried off again, leaving her in the cooling water.

She got out of the great bronze tub on her own and patted herself dry. She applied her oils and lotions before slipping into her navy dressing gown and breaking her fast. The maid had brought fruit and honeyed biscuits, along with a glass of wine. She ate it all, knowing that she would need her strength today.  When the maid did return, Arya was in tow. Her own maid, plus a few extra to help her get ready on this morning, trailed behind her, carrying various boxes and linens, no doubt her wedding dress.

“Mother woke me at the crack of dawn to slather my face in some sort of riverlands potion,” Arya grumbled as she collapsed on her bed in a huff, “It smelt horrible, Sansa, like low tide,” She bemoaned, her voice muffled by the furs against her face.

“You smell just fine now, Arya,” Her mother huffed as she entered the room last, carrying a velvet jewelry box, “And I do not see why you had to get ready in Sansa’s chambers. Your own are perfect,” She was already dressed in an ornate grey gown, the exact color of the Stark sigil. She had not yet seen her mother in such a color. She looked fiercely northern now, especially with the heavy steel direwolf pendant hanging from her neck.

“My own are not yet mine, and the temporary chamber does not have the view of the Godswood, but the ocean,” Arya told her, pointing to the balcony. Arya’s chambers were indeed far better then her own. They boasted a beautiful view of the ocean. It was one of the nicest in the castle, though it would be nothing compared to the chambers Arya would receive after marrying Gendry. She heard talk that Lord Robert was vacating his master chambers in favor of a new one, so that the married couple would have the Lords and Ladies chambers. 

“As you wish, it is your day,” Her mother told her as she laid the jewelry box on the vanity, “We must get moving though, girls. The time will come soon enough,” She reminded them. They had a little over two hours to get dressed and ready. It seemed like ages but she knew that a lot would be going into their routine this morning.

“Sansa first, I still need something to eat,” Arya looked to her maid with a smirk. She had clearly already eaten this morning. The maid curtsied though and disappeared quickly. 

“Fine, Sansa first,” Her mother tugged a brush through her curls without warning. It snagged and she winced dramatically. Her mother hushed her though and continued to work through the tangles. 

As Arya broke her second fast on _her_ bed, her mother and the maid worked to pin up half of her hair and perfectly tame the curls they left hanging down. Kohl was applied to her eyes and rogue to her cheeks before they pushed her out of the chair and dragged Arya over.

Her sister was less compliant then she. Arya winced and jerked at every pull of the brush and complained that the pins hurt her hair. Eventually the maid managed to braid a coronet around her head, and her mother stuck the blue roses in none to gently. Arya was doused in perfumes, puffed with powder and rogue, and then her lips were swiped with some sort of oil. Arya gagged at the taste of it.

“Gown time,” Her mother clapped her hands, “Sansa first. Gods know Arya cannot be in a white gown for so long without staining out,” Her words were said with a gentle smile as she patted Arya’s sulking face. She was still grumbling about the pins and flowers, “Do you remember when you were around six or seven and you dropped the blueberry tart on your white gown?”

“Twas the first and last time I wore white,” Arya smiled for once, “Sansa was all upset because it was her gown in the beginning, not that it fit her anymore,”

“I loved that gown,” She murmured though she had no memory of the gown nor the event. 

“You used to play pretend at marriage in it,” Her mother recalled fondly, “Forcing Robb or Theon to be the groom while Arya munched on the flowers you so painstakingly picked for the event,”

“I promise I shall be kinder to you at your wedding then you were at my pretend weddings, sister,” She told her little sister with a chuckle. They had played at pretend weddings in the past realm. Arya used to call her stupid for picking Theon or Robb over Jon, and then would have her own false wedding with him. She would give anything to go back to those days, to pick Jon instead of Theon or Robb.

“I do not know. I think you eating the flowers would be quite amusing,” Arya quipped as the maid pulled her blue gown over her dressing gown. It was a light blue color, a shade lighter then winter roses. She had embroidered it in white with little pearls and jewels, “You match my flowers, sister,” She had picked the dress for that matter. She wanted to tie them all together as a family. It was also the most appropriate gown she had with her after she had gotten rid of the silver and gold monstrosity her previous self had been planning on wearing.

“You look beautiful, Sansa,” Her mother murmured as she straightened the laces, “And now you will too, Arya,” Her mother held up the white silk dress. Arya sighed heavily but allowed herself to be laced in to. It was a gorgeous silk dress with panels of priceless myrish silk. It had no sleeves as Arya would be warm enough with the cloaks around her shoulders. It was all very understated though, perfect for Arya. 

“You look gorgeous, sister,” She told her little sister, blinking away the tears that threatened to fall. Last thing she needed was for her eyes to swell up again. 

“Your sister is right, my dear. You look breathtaking,” Their mother told Arya as she smoothed a lock of hair down over her white clad shoulder. 

Her mother helped Arya put on her jewelry and then her veil. They would not need it for the Northern ceremony, but it would be needed for the ceremony after, the one being held in the sept.Since Arya was a child of the North, and Gendry of the South, two ceremonies had been planned. The first would be in the Godswood with just close family, and the second in the sept with the entire realm’s attendance. 

“It is time, Sansa,” Her mother told her, reaching for her hand. Her father would be with Arya now, would escort her to the Godswood. She reached forward and kissed Arya’s cheeks, wishing her luck. Her mother did the same after, wiping tears from her eyes as she did so. Arya grinned as she told them to stop crying over her, it wasn’t that big of a deal. She shooed them away before their mother lost it completely.

“Some day soon that shall be you, my dear,” Her mother murmured softly as they made their way to the Godswood, “Do not fret. You will find a handsome lord to marry, someone fit for your station,”

“I know that, mother,” She told her with a smile as they left the castle proper. Because Queen Lyanna was their blood, the royal family would be in attendance in the Godswood. They were already there, waiting with the rest of the guests. She met Jon’s grey eyes as she spoke to her mother, her cheeks flushing warmly at his genuine smile.

“Good,” Her mother distracted her with her words. She tore her gaze from Jon’s and focused on the Godswood. 

Gendry and the entire Baratheon clan was present. He looked up when he saw the two of them, giving them a smile and a nod before going back to picking at his cuffs. Their arrival meant that Arya would arrive soon.

“You both look lovely, mother, sister,” Robb told them gallantly as they took their spot next to the three boys. Rickon instantly latched onto their hands. She smiled down at her little brother, fixing his doublet. It was grey, same as Bran and Robb’s. The three nearly matched, save for the stitching embroidered into the fabrics.

“Just wait until you see your other sister,” She quipped as noticed the wolves on the other side of the Godswood, watching them silently. All of them were together, including Ghost. She nudged Rickon, gesturing to where the wolves sat stoically, “Look who came to the wedding,” She murmured. Rickon grinned and made to whistle for his wolf, but her mother held tight to his hand.

“Don’t you dare, Rickon Stark,” She murmured while keeping her eyes elsewhere. Rickon huffed quietly, pouting.

Music did not play at ceremonies in the Godswood, but as the bell tower rang to indicate the time was upon them, they all turned to the entrance of the Godswood. Sure enough, her father and Arya stood at the entrance, backs straight and shoulders back. Once everyone had their attention focused, the two entered the holy ground. Arya was resplendent in her white gown and grey maiden cloak. The blue flowers added just the right amount of contrast. She looked like a perfect Northern maiden. As they got closer to their destination, Arya grinned, her white teeth flashing briefly as her eyes met Gendry’s. She watched Gendry closely, intent on picking apart every aspect of his expression, but there was no need.

Her sister’s future husband stood nearly slack jawed at the alter, the tiniest of grins on his awe struck face. She could see the love in his eyes clear as day. It brought tears to her own eyes. She tried to blink them away but a single tear streaked down her cheek just as they two met beneath the white and red tree.

“Who comes before the gods?” Gendry questioned, his voice wavering for a moment. It was not his religion, but he had learned it long before for this very moment.

“Arya of House Stark comes here to be wed. A woman grown and noble, she comes to beg the blessings of the gods. Who comes to claim her?” Her father questioned gravely. Gendry did not look frightened though.

“I, Gendry of House Baratheon, claim her. Who gives her?” Gendry’s voice was steadier now. It had lost the slight tremor it had displayed in the beginning of the ceremony.

“I, Eddard of House Stark, father of Arya,” Her father replied before turning to Arya, a small smile on his face as he asked her the next questioned, “Arya of House Stark, will you take this man? Of your own free will?” The last part was not usually part of the words, but each family did it there own way. There was no right or wrong in a Northern ceremony, not really. Arya smiled brightly at their father, her eyes looking suspiciously glassy.

“I take this man,” She replied, her voice not as strong as she had imagined it would be. It was thick with emotion. Her father nodded gruffly before pulling their hands together. Together, Arya and Gendry kneeled on the ground, heads bowed in prayer to the old gods. The rest of them turned their heads down as well, praying for peace and happiness for the newly wedded pair.

Gendry stood first, Arya following him a moment later. With steady hands, he reached out and undid her direwolf clasp, slipping the grey cloak from her narrow shoulders. Her father stood at the ready, taking the cloak from Gendry’s grasp.

The new cloak was black as night, trimmed with yellow gold velvet. Gendry pulled it over Arya’s shoulders, flashing the stag that was embroidered on the back. He clasped it around her carefully. Arya looked down at the clasp, an impossibly fond look crossing her face as she caressed the gold clasp, and then pulled her husband down for a heated kiss. She noticed her father look away discretely as the rest of them all clapped and cheered.

When the wedded pair emerged for air, Robert loudly proclaimed that they would miss the next ceremony should the continue to kiss so passionately. Gendry’s ears turned pink around the tips as Arya laughed at the joke. Robert was right though. The events had been planned very close together to allow optimal feasting time. 

From there, they traveled to the Sept, where the big ceremony was held, this time with most of the realm in attendance.She tried to catch Jon’s eye, but he had left ahead of them to be in place by the time they arrived. Unlike the informal setting of the Godswood ceremony, the ceremony in the sept would be very formal and structured.

It was not as tortuous as it could have been though. She found herself in a spot that afforded her a grand view of Jon, a view in which he did not know she could see him. She spent most of the mass watching him, though she did tear her gaze away for the actual marraige ceremony.

The already married couple went through the steps with a smile of their face, reciting the vows perfectly as the Septon declared them married in the eyes of the seven. Candles were lit, documents were signed, another kiss sealed the marriage once more, and then everyone was cheering. She felt her tears emerge again as the candle burned brightly, predictive of a long, prosperous marriage.

They threw rice at the couple as they passed, holding tightly to each other. She saw Gendry bend to whisper something to Arya, saw the blush that bloomed across her sister’s face, and then she was punching him in the shoulder.

She felt nothing but happiness for her sister at the moment, nothing but joy. She knew that the two of them would be happy together for the rest of their lives. It was a fate she wished for all of her siblings.

And as she once against met eyes with a certain pair of grey orbs, she wished it for herself. She envisioned her own marriage ceremony, the grey cloak and the white gown, the replacement red and black cloak that she would wear as proudly as she did the one for her own home. She thought of the vows and the promises that would be made, knowing that he was not on deathsdoor, that he would not leave her directly after the marriage.

Yes, she wished for it all, despite knowing that her wishes rarely came true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Comment and let me know what you thought! Two more chapters, and then this is done, but there will be a second part.


	24. Chapter 24

 

The feast was rumored to be the largest of it's kind, far surpassing any wedding held recently in the realm. She had heard the whispers of the staff throughout the week, heard the excitement in their tone. She knew based on attendance alone that the feast was going to be huge. Robert had spared no expense for his only son. As weddings and feasts were usually paid for my the bride's family, it was unusual that Robert had paid for most. Her father had paid a good deal as well, but it was said that Robert refused to split even. As she walked into the Great Hall of Stormend's, she could see the Southern influence immediately. Northern weddings were never so opulent. Black and gold dominated the hall, glittering and bright. But there were northern influences as well, blue winter roses  as centerpieces and wolves made of ice. The crowning jewel of the hall was the tapestry above the main dais. It was a stag and a wolf, intertwined. It was an amazing piece of embroidery. 

"Uncle Robert out did himself," Robb, her escort into the hall, whispered with a smirk on his face, "Perhaps he has a future in wedding planning should being a high lord bore him further,"

"I am sure that he paid someone a great sum to plan it all," She murmured, "Though I think I espy a war hammer made of ice on that table over there," She whispered. Sure enough there was one. There were also stags made of ice, and even a dragon. 

"Yes, and that person was mother," Robb laughed, "And to think we thought they were just becoming pen-pals" 

She smiled as she elbowed Robb as discretely as she could. They reached the end of the dais and took their spots at the high table. Robb, ever so gallant, pulled out her chair for her. She slid in, gazing at the crowd before them. Her parents and Robert were making their way down the aisle, her mother in the middle of the two escorts. They would be the last before the wedded couple was announced. Everyone was watching as Robert stood and called attention, raising his golden goblet high in the air, a jovial smile on his face. 

“It is my distinct pleasure to present my son, Lord Gendry Baratheon and his new wife, Lady Arya Baratheon!” He shouted above the crowd, and the married couple entered, the wedding cloak now missing from Arya’s shoulders. She still looked like a Stark in white gown, and the winter roses threaded through her hair marked her as of the North. The two got to the end of the aisle and took the proffered goblets. Gendry's was silver, while Arya's was gold.

"To the North!" Gendry held up his goblet as the crowd cheered to the North. She picked up her own golden goblet and cheered to her home. 

"To the Stormland's!" Arya did the same as Gendry, raising her goblet. The crowd cheered to the Stormland's. She raised her goblet again and took another swig of the smooth arbor gold. 

"To the realm!" The two toasted together, linking their arms and drinking from their goblets. The realm was toasted to, Arya and her new husband took their seats, and then Robert was calling out for the feast to begin. Music erupted from the dozens of players strategically placed throughout the hall just as the servers entered with trays upon trays of steaming hot food.

She was seated next to Robb at the feast, several seats away from Jon. The royal family had been divided to fit on the top dais with the two families. Jon had been placed on the Stark side, with Princess Daenerys while the rest sat on the Baratheon side. King Rhaegar was a cousin to Robert. She wondered about her aunt and why she too sat on the Baratheon side, but supposed that it would look weird if the two were separated. She was separated from Jon by Bran and Rickon since they sat in birth order. It was too far a distance to speak with him, but whenever she looked his way, he seemed to be looking back. Her cheeks flushed pink every time the tips of his ears tinged red. 

“You will have to be next, brother,” She told him as they tucked into yet another course. It was a mixture of southern and northern fare. Lord Robert had spared no expense for food either it seemed. She had eaten more at this feast then she had all week. It was that good.

“Or you, sister,” Robb replied, his mouth filled with chewed up food.

“With those manners it will be Bran and Rickon before you,” She told him, wrinkling her nose in distaste though she was amused with the situation, "Perhaps you'll end up an old maid,"

“Very funny,” Robb retorted, looking past her and into the crowd as if he were looking for someone, “What do you know of a Lady Jeyne Westerling, sister?” He questioned after a pause. Her heart stopped as she stared at him in disbelief. He was still looking into the crowd though. How in the world had he managed to meet her in this realm? It seemed impossible. 

“I know next to nothing,” She managed to lie though it sounded strained to her own ears. Robb did not seem to realize she was lying though, “Who is she again?” 

“A companion to Lady Myrcella,” Robb answered, gesturing towards where the Lannister's were seated, where he had been staring. Sure enough there was a brunette sitting next to Myrcella who matched the description she had of Jeyne Westerling, “I danced with her last night. Lady Myrcella suggested that I ask her. She is quite charming,”

She had never once met Jeyne Westerling in the old realm. She was long dead by the time she reached the Riverlands. No one seemed to know how the Northern King’s wife had died, or exactly when, though many said it was from starvation and cold. She had survived the Red Wedding, became a hostage, and then nothing. This new girl was comely enough but still nothing to write a song over. She had dark curly hair that was tied in a loose chignon, doe brown eyes, and thin lips. She was slender with nearly no bosom to boast, and wore a dress that was just a bit too plain for her station in life. She had a pretty smile that enhanced her features, and as she spoke with Lady Myrcella she seemed to be constantly laughing and smiling. It scared her though. Robb had died because of her in the last realm. He had forsaken vows for her. She was worried something would happen like that now.

“Westerling is a noble Western house, old name but fading, I believe,” She murmured as she tore her gaze away from the laughing pair. She hid her fear in the back of her mind, resolving not to let it ruin the feast. She could figure out a plan later should she need it,  “What is their seat again?” 

“The Crag,” Robb replied, “Lord Twyin took her on as a companion for his granddaughter as a favor to Lord Gawen Westerling, who helped broker a trade agreement with the West. His wife comes from a family of merchants in Essos,” He explained with a dismissive wave of his hand, “She has agreed to dance the first set with me tonight,”

“How unfortunate for her,” She teased, causing Robb to pinch her forearm with a laugh. Her mother scolded them with a surprised look on her face, as if she could not believe her nearly grown children were pinching each other at their younger sister's wedding. It was a priceless look to see upon her mother's face. Rob and she broke into laughter while their father drew their mother's attention back to him.

When the first set was announced, Arya and Gendry took the floor first. After a few seconds of dancing alone, her parents along with Lord Robert and the Queen joined in. Jon approached her then, looking splendid in grey and black. He had a coronet of silver atop his dark curls yet again. He looked regal yet still like a Stark. Robb snickered and asked if it were velvet he wore. 

"Says the man wearing silk," Jon quipped.

"Well met, cousin," Robb laughed, "If you will excuse me though, I have my own dance partner to find," She watched as he went towards Lady Jeyne, bowing gallantly. The girl smiled but did not blush like a simpering maid. She took the offered hand and allowed him to sweep her off towards the dance floor.

"Lady Sansa?" Jon questioned.

"Sorry, lost in thought," She murmured as she allowed Jon to lead her to the floor as well. His hand was warm against hers. Neither wore gloves. The heat of the South did not warrant such articles of clothing.

“You look beautiful, as always, my lady,” Jon told her as they started off. 

“Thank you, your Grace,” She answered demurely, “You look handsome as well,” And he did. He had even brushed back his curls in an attempt to control then. It made his bone structure more prominent. She had loved working her hands over the contours of his face back in the old realm. The sharp angles of his jaw, the high cheekbones, even the dimples he sometimes showed when he smiled. She longed to do it again, but it would be quite brazen of her to do it in the middle of a feast, surrounded by the entire realm, not to mention inappropriate, not that she cared for that.

“Thank you, my lady, though I take no credit for it. My Aunt is the one responsible for all garment choices,” Jon replied with a wary chuckle, “My lady, about last night, I am sorry,” He surprised her with that.

“Sorry?” She questioned stupidly, looking at him in confusion as the hurt built in the pit of her stomach. She was embarrassed to say that her eyes started to sting with tears. What did he mean by sorry? Was he regretting his actions? Regretting their kiss? She did not think she could hold onto her mask if he told her so. She did think she was strong enough to stomach that. It was one of the risks the Red Lady had told her of, that this Jon might not love her, but she had never imagined it like it. The only reason she had imagined their love not existing was if one of them did not exist.

“Yes, it was completely untoward and base of me, my lady. I should have never dishonored you like that, Lady Sansa” He rambled on, unaware of her inner turmoil, “I spoke to your father on the matter and I-”

“My father?” She whisper yelled at him, looking at him with wide eyes, not quite believing his words. Her surprise and disbelief dispelled her fear for a moment, “You spoke to my father on such matters?” She repeated, wondering if he was daft and wondering why her father had allowed them to dance together at all knowing what he knew. She was beyond confused now.

“I dishonored you, my lady. I had to speak with him,”

“You did no such thing,” She told him quickly, “If anything, I dishonored you. I acted first,”

“You simply ran a hand through my hair. It is cousinly enough, my lady, but I took it a step further. I kissed you,” He told her seriously, his grey eyes conflicted, “I forced myself upon you,”

“It was not forced, Jon, and my actions were not meant to be cousinly” She whispered, getting where he was going now. His ears turned pink at her words, “It was not dishonorable. It was a lovely kiss, one I very much enjoyed,” She felt her cheeks tinge pink at her statement, her heart racing as she hoped he returned the sentiment.

“It was?” Jon grinned stupidly at her.

“Very much so,” She nodded.

‘That is a relief, my lady,” He told, “Because I did also happen to ask your father to allow me to court you,” He added quickly. She gaped at him, mouth open as a smile slowly broke across her face.

‘You did?” She questioned in excitement, gripping the hand holding hers tightly in her excitement “What did my father say?” She wondered.

“He had to speak to my father about it because of the whole son of a King thing,” He rolled his eyes, which was so uncharacteristic of her Jon, but amusing to see,“But I had the feeling that he approved, so now we just need my father’s approval, which shan’t be too difficult. You are okay with this, are you not, Lady Sansa?” He questioned, worry clouding his eyes, "I should have asked your permission first, I know, but I-"

“Of course. I am overjoyed to hear it, Jon” She cut him off with a wide smile, his given name slipping unintentionally from her lips. He paid it no mind though, just held her a bit closer and tighter as the dance started to wind down.

“As am I” He told her, smiling as well. This, she told herself, was what it should have felt like when she heard about her betrothal to Joffrey. This is what happiness and hope were about. She had been excited to be a Queen in the last realm, excited to be marrying the golden prince. But she had not been excited about Joffrey himself. She had barely given him any thought beyond his title and wealth and family. They probably looked like two loons smiling at each other like they were, but she was far from caring.

Everything was finally working out perfectly.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this is it, the last chapter! Enjoy!

The feast was everything that her own wedding was not. Everyone was feasting and drinking, laughter and joy rang out through the hall. Lannister's danced with Stark's, Baratheon's danced with Targaryen's, and fun was had by all. It was a good feast, she had to admit. It was probably the best she had ever been to. The married couple danced together most of the night, though they did relinquish each other for a few sets. She danced with her new good brother, who smiled the entire time, his eyes cast towards where Arya danced with Jon. She danced with all of her brothers and her father. Robb thankfully did not wax poetic about Lady Jeyne Westerling, though he did dance another set with her. She even managed a civil set with Joffrey. All in all, it was a good night. She was beyond thankful that she got to enjoy it. 

As the hour of the wolf approached, one drunken, brazen man stood up on the high dais, his goblet of ale held aloft. She had been waiting for someone to do this, to start the end of the feast. 

“To bed! To bed! To bed!” He shouted. Everyone soon joined in ,banging their feet against the floor and their tankards against the tables. She was unashamed in admitting that she to joined in with them. Even Robb appeared to be banging his goblet against the table. Her poor father looked resigned to the fate of Arya as he sat next to Robert, who was joyfully yelling along with the crowd. 

But as soon as a man laid his hand on her sister, Nymeria was up from her spot by the hearth, growling, scaring them all away. Arya grinned in triumph, petting her wolf's furry head. It might have just been the light, but she could have sworn the wolf looked proud. Gendry, cheeks red, approached Arya, offering his hand with a word of some sort. To her surprise, Arya's cheeks flushed as she nodded. Laughter rang out through the hall as the two disappeared quite quickly after, the wolf left with the rest of them. The feast continued though, and more wine and ale was distributed.

"Fancy a dance, my lady?" Prince Aegon appeared before her, a smile on his wine flushed face. She had not danced with him, though she had been cornered into dancing an awkward set with Prince Viserys. Unlike Jon, Prince Aegon wore more red then he did black. It looked well on him though. The two brothers were opposites in all aspects it seemed. 

"I would be honored, your Grace," She told him, standing up from her spot at the table. She fluffed Rickon's curls as she left. The boy was falling asleep though he insisted on staying up with everyone else. Robert Arryn sat beside him though, in a similar state. She would bet a golden coin that Lady Lysa would remove them both before the feast was called to a complete end. Said Aunt was currently speaking with her mother, both sisters looking well at ease. 

"You look gorgeous tonight, my lady," Aegon complimented her as they began their dance.

"High praise from a prince. I thank you, your Grace," She told him with a smile. Prince Aegon chuckled.

"That nearly sounded like a jest, my lady," He told her as they twirled around another dance pair.

"I assure you that it was not, Prince Aegon," She told him.

"I doubt I am the first prince to tell you how lovely you look tonight though," Prince Aegon commented with a sly grin. He reminded her of Theon before the Iron born turned sixteen. That year he had turned cold, cruel even. But before that, when he just a lad of ten or twelve, he was always grinning and teasing them. It was always in good nature. As he aged though, she believed he grew resentful. Hatred and jealousy seeped in, turning him to what he became in the last realm. Hopefully Prince Aegon would remain as joyful and teasing as he was now.

"If you are asking if Prince Viserys told me how beautiful I look, I am afraid I shall have to disappoint you. He was quite tight lipped as we danced, if you could even call it that," She quipped. Prince Aegon chuckled at her candor. 

"I was referring to another prince, actually," Aegon replied, stepping away with the music. She danced around a nobleman from the Stormland's, then met Aegon again, "I noticed that you danced three sets with my little brother," He continued his previous topic.

"I did,' She nodded, smiling involuntarily as her eyes found Jon across the hall. He was dancing with Princess Daenerys, who was jabbering away about something, her purple eyes bright and drunk. Jon was laughing at whatever it was his aunt was telling him. His face lit up when he laughed, making him seem younger and less troubled. He was always so serious, even in this realm.

"When I asked him about it, he had the same smile upon his face," Prince Aegon told her, catching where and what she was looking at, "He admitted to me that he asked your father for a courtship between the two of you," Aegon continued, "Did you ask him for a courtship?" His question surprised her. She looked back at him, studying his expression. He was not accusing her of anything though, he was simply asking.

"He did, yes," She answered, "And I did not, no,"

"And here I thought we shared something special, Lady Sansa," Prince Aegon joked, grinning at her like a knave, "On a serious note, I know it is blatantly obvious and that most of the realm knows, but you aware of the Queen's disapproval of you, are you not?"

"I would have to be blind, deaf, and dead to not see it, Prince Aegon," She replied, "But I have done nothing to her that I am aware of, so i shall just have to endeavor to change her opinion, should your father and mine agree to such a courtship," 

"Look there," Aegon spun her around so that she could see the high dais again. Her father had sat next to King Rhaegar, speaking quietly. She recognized the look upon his face. It was his serious expression, but not that gravely serious expression. King Rhaegar had a surprised look on his face, which quickly disappeared to appear more at ease. She watched as her father spoke, the king listening intently. Her father said something, causing the king to laugh heartily. She watched King Rhaegar search the hall before his gaze landed on Jon. He watched his son as her father continued to speak. She could not read their lips well enough to know exactly what was being said, but she imagined it was about the courtship. She watched as King Rheagar nodded and then offered his hand to her own father, who shook it tightly.

"We cannot stand still on the dance floor much longer, my lady" Aegon told her, spinning her slightly to the side, "I take it that the smile on your face means that it did end in my father drawing his sword on yours or vice versa?"

"They shook hands, your Grace," She told him with a wide smile, "Surely that is a good sign,"

"No doubt the best," Prince Aegon replied, "But it seems the Queen has joined the conversation," She spun Aegon this time, causing him to snort in laughter, muttering something about brute strength under his breath. She ignored him as she watched the three adults on the dais. Her father stood and made to leave though, leaving the King and Queen together. She watched as the king told the queen something, and then offered her his hand. They stepped off of the high dais just as the music ended.

"It has been a pleasure, as always, Lady Sansa," Aegon told her with a bow, "I do hope that you know that only the Queen has such an opinion about you. No doubt I shall get over the heartbreak of you accepting my little brother over I," He teased. 

“Thank you, your Grace” She murmured as she curtsied. She watched as the king gestured for Jon as he and the Queen made their way out of the ball room. Jon followed after bowing quickly and crookedly towards his aunt. 

"Eavesdropping would be advised, my lady," Aegon told her as they parted, a grin on his face. She rather liked him. He would be a good ally in the future, a good friend. She no longer felt jealousy towards his and Robb's friendship. They could all be friends in this realm.  She went towards the guest chambers, figuring that the King would be headed there. She was correct in her assumption because once again she found herself eavesdropping on a conversation in High Valayrian, the King, Queen, and Jon’s voices all raised in argument. 

She pasted herself against the wall and listened to them.

“I will never approve of such a thing,” Queen Lyanna’s voice was shrill and angry. It was hard to understand her already difficult accent with her anger. 

“Father has already approved of it, mother,” Jon spoke it much like his father. Even though she could hear the anger in his voice, to most people he would sound perfectly calm and collected. She had never heard him speak Valayrian. It made her warm in places the old Jon had vast explored. He had sometimes spoken in the old tongue during their intimacies, but that was when it was rough and hard. The old tongue was perfect in those instances.

“It has not been announced, I can still break it,” Queen Lyanna retorted stubbornly, "No one needs know,"

“You would do that to your brother?” King Rhaegar questioned in disbelief. She could not imagine the Queen doing that to her brother, nor could she imagine a Stark ever going back on their words. It was not the honorable thing to do, and Stark's were nothing, if not honorable.

‘I would do that to protect our son, Rhaegar" 

“I do not need your protection from anything, mother. I am eighteen, a man grown. I asked Lord Stark for his permission myself. It was only out of honor he told me that he would have to ask father first," Jon told his mother. 

“You cannot simply go gallivanting about and asking permission to court ladies that are beneath your station, Jaemon," 

“She is not beneath my station. You would have had me marry her sister. What difference is there between the two, mother?” Jon snapped, “Both are Stark’s, both are of our own blood. What is it that is so terrible about Lady Sansa? She is your niece and she has done nothing to you, mother. I do not understand it at all," 

“She is no Stark,” The Queen snapped quite loudly, “She is a fish wearing the pelt of a wolf. She is just playing you, Jon. Think of how she played Aegon the last time we were all together. She has but one thing on her mind, Jon, a crown. She does not want you, she wants your title,”

“Thank you for that. I had no idea you thought so lowly of me, to think that I am that naive and stupid. You are wrong, and I will prove it, your Grace,” Jon told her coldly. She heard footsteps then, and after a strangled sigh. Jon had left them it appeared. She wished to go find him, to thank him for sticking up for her, but she also wished to hear the end of this conversation. She also knew Jon would wish to be alone, just as he had in the past. 

“Why would you approve of such a thing, Rhaegar? Honestly,” The Queen questioned sharply, “You know how I feel about that girl,”

“Yes, and now I know how our son feels about her. He admitted to your brother that he stole a kiss from the lady,” The King chuckled, which explained the laughter she saw earlier,  “Your brother tells me that he was so startled and amused by the look on Jon’s face that he could not bear it to be mad at the boy. Apparently he was chastising himself enough over it,”

“He stole the kiss or that girl stole it from him?” The Queen argued back, “I doubt it was Jon that initiated it. He can barely talk to a girl without stammering or blushing like a maid,” Jon was quite shy around women, and it wasn’t him that initiated it, but the Queen did not have to know that, “He cannot love her, Rhaegar, it has only been a few days,”

“He does not claim to love her, Lya,” The King told his wife, “He explicitly told your brother that last night. He simply wishes to get to know her better, hence the courtship. It is not a yet a betrothal. He feels a connection between the two of them. I believe your brother said, and I am quoting our son here not your brother, that he finds himself seeking her out if only to hear her voice or her laughter, or to see her smile,”

“And so you thought that warranted a courtship?”

“I thought our son’s future happiness warranted a chance, Lya,” The King sighed, “Do you not want that for Jon? We live in a time of peace. Jon, Aegon, Dany, all of them can have the freedom of choosing instead of an arranged marriage for alliances, choices that not many royals are ever given,”

‘I understand that, and I do wish for him to chose his own love, but surely there is someone else that has caught his eye. A Martell, perhaps? Even the young Lady Myrcella is quite beautiful,”

“A Lannister, Lya? Really? You would have him chose a lion over a wolf, over your own blood? I can see this is going nowhere. It is done with though. I have given your brother my blessing for a courtship, as King, not as a father," The King clarified, "Now all that needs to be figured out are the logistics. You always did want Jon to spend some time in the North,”

“Over my dead body, Rhaegar. He will not being going to the North,”

“You would not trust your brother to keep it proper?”

“I would not trust his wife,” The Queen hissed, “If she wants a courtship, then she will have to come to the capital,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And part 1 is done! Look out for the next part, which will be "The Courtship in the Capital! I am so grateful and thankful for all of you that took the time to read this, to hit that kudos button, and to leave amazingly encouraging and optimistic reviews. Any suggestions, comments, what you'd like to see, etc in the next part, let me know! Thanks again, y'all are amazing!  
> \-- Makenalei


	26. Courtship in the Capital: Preview

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, three months later then I planned but it's summer vacation now, so it's getting done. I am so sorry for keeping you guys wondering for so long but university was kicking my ass. Here is a preview of chapter 1 which will be posted as a new fic shortly after this!

Courtship in the Capital

Part 2 of A Second Chance

Chapter 1

Lady Sansa Stark

 

_She stood on the top battlements of the gatehouse. It had taken ages to climb the ungodly number of stairs. To her left stood Joffrey, a cruel smile on his face, and to her right, Sandor Clegane, looking about as thrilled to be there as she did. She focused beyond them though, looking out at the great Capital City. To think that this was what she had once dreamed about._

_She could see the Great Sept of Baelor on Visenya’s hill, and the  fire-blackened ruins of the Dragonpit to the east. To the west, she saw the Gate of the Gods, lit up by the slowly disappearing sun. The sea was at her back though she could faintly smell the scent of salt. It was overpowered by the stench of the capital rot. To the south was the fish market and the docks and the Blackwater Rush. And to the she saw only the city, streets and alleys and hills and bottoms and more streets and more alleys and the stone of distant walls. Yet she knew that beyond them was open country, farms and fields and if she kept looking, if she could see as far as she truly wished, Winterfell._

_But they did not spend nearly half of an hour climbing treacherous stairs for her to admire the capital nor for her to fantasize about heading North once again. No, Joffrey had crueler intentions. He forced her attention to the parapets, to the iron spikes that held the heads of fallen Northern men. She had noticed it immediately of course, but she no longer wished to give Joffrey the satisfaction of her pain. He could make her look at the heads but she could refuse to see them._

_He showed her the one that apparently had belonged to her father. She feared for a moment that she would lose her impassive expression, but the head looked nothing like the father in her memory. It had been tarred to preserve it, but it only helped to blur the features._

_And then Joffrey disappeared along with the Hound. She was left along on the battlements, alone with a couple dozen of spiked heads, all looking at her instead of facing the city like they were supposed to._

_‘No” She whispered as the one that was supposed to be her father morphed. The tar vanished and the skin was restored. The eyes were open, staring at her bleakly. He looked like her father now. She ran passed him, only to discover that the next head was someone she knew as well. Her brother, Robb, a steel crown upon his head. Then her mother, with her slit throat. Rickon. Bran. Arya. Her entire family._

_“Jon” She whispered, looking for him, praying that he wasn’t there, “Jon!” She screamed, racing down the ramparts though it was endless. She just kept passing her family over and over and over again. It was never ending._

_And then it did end. She reached a dead end on the battlements. There was a head mounted to a spike before her, facing the stone wall. She reached out carefully, noticing the crisscross web of scars across her hands. Shaking, she turned the head around._

_“No!” She screamed as she looked upon the severed head of Jon. He had the scar from the eagle across his eye and his skin appeared seared. He looked as if he had died by fire._

_And then his eyes opened and she stared at the soulless blue of an other, and screamed anew._

She woke up panting and gasping for breath, her chest heaving from her nightmare. A second later her door was being pushed open, a guard barging in with his sword drawn. She recognized it as Jory.

“I heard a scream,” Jory stated, looking around the inn chambers for the threat.

“A bad dream is all,” She muttered, trying to control her breathing, “My apologies, Jory,”

“No apology is needed, Lady Sansa,” Jory told her. He checked the windows twice just to be sure, “Do you wish to talk about it?” He questioned after a moment. He had always been like family to them, like an uncle. 

“No, thank you though,” She replied, “I just wish to get back to sleep. We have a long journey ahead of us on the morrow,”

‘The last stretch,” Jory grinned. He had been assigned to the guard that was taking her to the capital. They had ridden well for the past five days, and now the journey was about to end. The capital loomed only a few hours ride ahead. They had stopped in Brindlewood for the night. Tomorrow she would be there, and Jory would go back to the North. A few lesser guards would remain in the capital, but Jory was needed back home, “Well, then, I shall take my leave. Pleasant dreams, Lady Sansa,” 

“Get some rest, Jory” She called as he shut the door. She collapsed back against her pillows with a heavy sigh. Ever since they had gotten on the road to the capital, she had been plagued with dreams of the past. They were strange dreams. She knew that Joffrey had taken her to the battlements in the last realm to boast her father’s death, but in a strange way, she could not connect fully to that memory. She thought it likely that her old memories were fading. 

It scared her more then she cared to admit. It began in Winterfell, after they returned from Arya’s wedding. She found herself forgetting and merging her new siblings together. She could barely recall Rickon as a babe in the old realm and try as she might, she could not bring to mind an image of her mother brushing out her hair in her old chambers. She knew that it had occurred, but she could not bring it into focus. Her new memories were overpowering the old ones.

Lady startled her by jumping up onto the bed, curling into her side. She tried to relax and will herself back to sleep, knowing that she did not wish to look so wretched on the morrow, but it was near impossible. Her mind kept going back to the surprisingly vivid memories she still had of the capital.

The punishments, the whipping, the green fire dancing across the Blackwater, it all ran through her mind in a loop. Her nerves, fear, and anxiety all bundling into one until she finally succumbed to the darkness.


End file.
